


100 Impossible Things (Before Breakfast)

by cassievalentine



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2015-08-30
Packaged: 2018-04-18 01:33:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4687394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassievalentine/pseuds/cassievalentine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time she'd woken, Peggy Carter had been strapped to a table while a Russian spy injected her with something. The second time she'd woken up, she found out she'd been dead for the last 70 years, the SSR had become SHIELD, Howard Stark had managed to settle down and Steve Rogers was still very much alive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Soooooo, very much still a WIP and I don't know as much about the MCU as I'd like, but Tony and Coulson waltzed in and wouldn't leave.

"Ah, boss,” the workman called as he and his colleagues gathered around a particular section of wall. Two men continued to shine a flashlight on the wall while running fingers over it. A third stayed with his ear pressed against the smooth surface. "We found something."

"Found what?” the foreman asked as he wandered over.

“A hollow section," the workman said as he rapped his knuckles against it.

"Something working behind it," said the man with his ear pressed up against the wall.

With a sigh, the foreman rapped on the wall a few times before pressing his ear against it and listened. It was faint, but there was some kind of steady, mechanical hum. He popped his gum as he stepped away from the wall and raised his eyebrows at the workers.

"We can't find a way to open it."

The foreman took a flashlight and began to shine it against the walls surrounding the hollow section until it landed on a lone set of filing cabinets. He looked at his crew and they headed over together.

Upon closer inspection, one of the drawers was stuck. With a heavy press on the silver tab and a sharp jerk, the drawer moved and they all jumped back as the room began to shake.

Fearing the worst, they all began to back away towards the exit until they saw a section of the wall slowly slide away. Lights beyond the sliding wall revealed a tunnel, flicking for a moment before going out. A handful remained on.

"Brace it open," the foreman said. A few of the men grabbed scaffold supports and wedged them into place. Satisfied, he and two others headed down the tunnel. They coughed a little at the settling dust still swirling in the air before swinging their flashlights around the room. They collectively held their breath as their lights began to pick out decades-old computers and other pieces of technology.

"What the hell is all this?” one of the men asked as they moved further into the room. They split up and began to rummage through dust-caked filing cabinets and papers strewn upon tables. Whoever had been here last had moved on in a hurry.

“Secret evil lair,” the other suggested with a smile as he moved toward a monitor and began looking for a way to try and bring the system to life. A panel retreated and a keyboard rose up after a lucky sweep of a hand. The monitor slowly flickered to life. He wrinkled his nose as the smell of burning dust began to rise from the computer. "Definitely a secret evil lair," he commented as Russian words filled the screen. He decided it would be best to step back and leave the system for the eggheads to deal with.

"Complete with Frankenstein's monster," the foreman muttered as he continued to stare into a stainless steel cylinder on the back wall of the secret room. The other men came over and peered into the porthole only to see someone inside. The person was hooked up to various wires and tubes, floating in some kind of bluish-green fluid. If he was reading the display on the outside of the tube right, the person was still alive.

"Let's go," the foreman said, backing away from the tube and pulling the others with him. "Now." As soon as they were outside of the room, he ordered the whole crew into the hall outside the main room. "Get Coulson on the phone," he said into his radio as he headed out of the building. "I don't care," he growled. "Unless he's dying, get him on the phone."


	2. Chapter 2

"Talk to me," Agent Coulson said as soon as he marched onto the work site. The cluster of construction workers made way for him and the foreman quickly began to retell the series of events. 

Coulson listened carefully, hoping to glean any clues from the workers before going in to inspect the room himself. When the men were done, he thanked them for their time and assured them he'd be in contact. Once he was satisfied that they had moved far enough away from the room, he pulled a small flashlight out of his pocket. Flicking it on to make sure it still worked, he headed in.

There was nothing remarkable about the main room. Save for the filing cabinet and rickety table, it was empty. After examining the walls though, he could see faint discolorations, like something had been resting against them, perhaps bookshelves or more filing cabinets. He moved toward the corners of the room and toed through debris but found nothing of interest. 

As he was moving to the corners opposite the hidden door, his toe caught on something. Looking down, he noticed scuff marks in the concrete floor. Coulson crouched down and ran his fingers over them. They were irregular in both length and depth. He puzzled over what could have caused them for a moment before straightening up and finally turning toward the secret room.

He stepped in and waited for a moment to see if any motion sensor responded, even though nothing had happened when the workers had gone in. He tried a few basic commands in English and then repeated them in Russian. Coulson held his breath as the humming in the room increased in volume and frequency. The noise leveled out as a third of the lights flickered on, along with several smaller screens scattered throughout the room. 

The agent stepped farther into the room and began examining the smaller monitors. Most seemed to display vital statistics, metabolism rates and brain function. He assumed those were related to whoever was in the tube in the back of the room. Coulson spared a glance at both the main computer monitor and papers scattered around the room, but his Russian was limited to the few curse words Natasha Romanov seemed to have taught the whole of SHIELD.

Finally, Coulson moved to the back of the room inspect the large machine covering that wall. He studied the panels that offered the same readouts as the screens around the room before his eyes shifted to the tube. It was tall. About six feet high and wide enough for a muscular man to fit comfortably inside. Coulson ran a hand over the rough metal before finally stepping up onto the built-in step and scrubbed at the single porthole on the device. Finally having cleared enough of the grime, he looked inside only to see nothing. Coulson frowned a little as he shifted around on the small step, practically plastering his face to the glass before angling his eyes downward and catching sight of the tube's occupant. He stepped down and quickly looked at the tube before scrubbing at some markings to clean them off. He ran them through a translator and pressed a button. Coulson winced a little at the grinding sound and the vibrations that followed. He looked in the porthole after everything had stopped and found that the occupant was now easily visible.

The Agent couldn't see any visible injuries on the occupant’s face, but much of it was covered with electrodes and some kind of face plate. Coulson stepped back once more and studied the large machine as a whole before pulling out his phone.

"This is Agent Coulson. I'm gonna need a containment, science and translation team. I'm also gonna need Tony Stark.”

**

"Did you miss me already, Coulson?" Tony asked as he swaggered into the room. He stopped dead in his tracks, pulling off his sunglasses to focus on the machinery taking up an entire wall in the small room. 

"Coulson, you always get me the very best toys," he finally said, dropping his glasses into his blazer pocket and starting to move again. "Russian, right,” he asked as soon as he caught sight of the writing sprinkled over the machine. 

Stark quickly pulled out his phone and had JARVIS start offering translations. "You're getting this all down, right?" he asked the agent at his heels. Some scrambling later and Post-Its were being stuck to the machine to provide easy reference. 

"Now this, this is where it gets interesting. This is not a refrigeration coil," he said, nudging the part with his shoe before moving to the step and looking into the tank at its murky blue-green fluid. Some small bubbles lazily moved through the fluid as they made their way to the top of the tank. He stepped back suddenly and let his eyes roam over the exposed machinery and tubing. Starting from what he now assumed was a fluid pump, he traced the tubing to another box like structure and discovered access points on either side.

"What?"

"Some kind of filter, I assume," Stark answered, calling out for some syringes. Coulson soon handed him one along with an alcohol wipe. Tony cleaned one port and drew some fluid before switching syringes and doing the same from the other port. They were quickly labelled and handed off to one of the science techs.

"What about this?" Another tech asked, pointing to a nearly empty container near the side of the machine. Tony moved closer and looked at the container, giving it a tap with his fingernail.

"Glass," he said after hearing his nail click against it. The front of the bottle was unlabelled, so no clues to be found there. While he was tempted to try and turn the bottle around, he was hesitant to do so. "Has anyone touched this?” he asked, looking around the room. 

Everyone shook their heads no and he turned back to the container. "The layer of dust is lighter," he said calmly. Coulson gave him a look and Stark explained that it meant the container was a moving part. A slow moving part, but a moving part. He made a few guesses that it might be a sedative or nutrition but he wasn't sure. 

Coulson started to ask something else, but the whirl of a small motor stopped him. All eyes turned toward the machine as the container in question finally emptied, cycled down and disappeared into the machine. A full one soon took its place. "Huh," Tony remarked as the machine quieted down again.

“Can we move this?" Coulson asked as everyone started to go back to work. Tony let out a long breath as he moved closer to the machine once again. He did his best to try and look between the machine and the wall but it seemed to be recessed into the concrete. Stark shook his head and Coulson sighed. When it came time to revive whomever was in that tube he wanted to do it in a sterile, controlled environment, not this poorly lit, very public, dirty little space. "I'll call in a containment team," he said with a sigh. "And come up with something about a biohazard in an abandoned fallout shelter."

"Sounds great," Tony said, waving him off as he turned his attention back to the machine, holding out his phone and asking JARVIS to make scans. 

Agent Coulson stood in the middle of the room for a minute before pulling his phone out of his pocket. "Director Fury, please," was all he said.

**

A day later, Coulson gathered all the SHIELD members assigned to the site and began to relay orders. First priority was to finish decoding and translating the information in the computer with hopes that they would come across valuable information: technical specs, who was in the tube, why they were there and what had been done to them. 

While he didn't say so out loud, Coulson hoped there were no technical specs, just to see what Tony Stark would do. He had it on good authority that Stark had sequestered himself in his lab the moment he got home and only emerged periodically to rant at Pepper Potts about the machine. According to Stark, the technology was antiquated, from the mid-to late-1940s but the science behind the preservation was unlike anything he'd ever seen.

Second priority was to figure out how to successfully revive the person in the tube. Part of the US government and the SSR had experimented with different types of cryostats briefly but had abandoned the project after a 0 percent success rate at reviving the subjects. If the Russians had figured this out, and in the 1940s to boot . . . .

Finally, they had to figure out how to deal with the fallout of reviving the person in the tube. There was no way to tell if the person would be fully conscious or not, if there had been physical or mental enhancements done, or if they were carrying any pathogens. The medical team was doing its best to create a sterile room, but it was nearly impossible. There were too many people walking in and out of the room, too much accumulated dust, dirt and debris to make everything spotless.

"Any questions?” Coulson asked after he finished talking. A murmur went through the crowd but when no hands went up, he sent them all back to work.

A few hours later, a tech approached Agent Coulson and handed him a stack of papers that were the preliminary translations. 

"It seems to be log entries, sir," he was told as he accepted the pages and offered his thanks. As he flipped through the pages, he moved to the side of the main room. The first few pages were technical knowledge, schematics for the machine, complex math, chemistry; the kind of information Tony Stark was chomping at the bit for. As he moved further into the papers though, the technical specs disappeared and the entries became almost a journal.

_Sergei claims he is being followed. He has not seen anyone but still he insists. He says he can feel it. We are making plans to move should the feeling persist, just to be safe._

_**_

_Sergei continues to insist he is being followed. We moved to this location three weeks ago but it does not seem to have helped. This is unfortunate because if we are to stay on schedule, we need to settle somewhere secure and quickly._

_**_

_It has been six weeks since Sergei first began to claim he was being followed, and now Ivan is making similar claims. They would prefer to move once again, but we have no time left. I have, however, secured a building that contained a hidden vault. We have reworked it to suit our needs and will begin assembling the machinery later today. I have advised both Sergei and Ivan to take care when leaving and returning to the building._

_**_

_The machine is coming together nicely and on schedule. If the scientists are correct, this machine will function more efficiently and be kinder to the subject than the prototype. We are having trouble tracking down some of the elements needed to manufacture the stasis liquid. I have left Aleksi in charge of acquiring what we need, but I am beginning to reconsider my decision; he has spotted someone following him. He claims it is a woman, but I doubt the Americans would send a woman spy. The male pride in this country is too great to allow a woman to do a man's work._

_**_

_As it turns out, Aleksi was correct about the woman. In recent days I too have had the feeling of being watched and followed. I have taken pains to change my route often, to double back, and to even weave through neighboring buildings. I have to admit, this woman is quite good at her job. I have sent a communique about possibly acquiring this woman either for us or the Red Room._

_**_

_After nearly four months, the woman finally managed to track me to the building. I am not sure how she did it, but this time I did not realize she was with me until Sergei rendered her unconscious just outside the inner door. Given how difficult she was to track down, I feel she would be invaluable to us if proper training and motivation were provided. Unfortunately, we have not heard back regarding Red Room so I have given Sergei the order to prepare the machine and I have ordered Ivan and Aleksi to  make sure the fluid is ready while I prepare the necessary serums and intravenous solutions._

_**_

_The machine is functioning perfectly and the read outs are all in the green. I am declaring the procedure a success._

**

Coulson looked up from the papers in his hand, staring at the wall across from him for a long moment. He finally pushed himself away from the wall he was leaning against and moved through the crowd until he was back in front of the machine. He climbed the step, stared through the porthole and put his imagination to good use. There had only been one female agent working for the SSR in the 1940s and her loss had been a major turning point for procedure and policy within the organization, but it had also been a major set back to the organization. Agent Margaret Carter had become a cautionary tale that was forever being used as an example of what not to do and Coulson was starting to realize that the person in the tank may very well be Agent Carter.

With one last, long look at possible Carter, Coulson stepped away and headed back out to the main room. He gathered up the stack of papers designated for Tony in his free hand and left word with one of the security personnel that he'd be off site and reachable by cellphone. Confident that they'd contact him if they needed him, Coulson headed to his car and slid behind the wheel. He sat for a long moment before dialing his phone and asking for Fury. He quickly got clearance to drop the technical papers off with Stark but hesitated before ending the call.

"Was there something else, Agent?" Fury asked when the pause dragged on.

"Sir, there were also journal entries," Coulson started.

"And?"

"The last entry claims the procedure, whatever it was, was a success. However, unless the details of what exactly the procedure consisted of are in the technical papers that information is gone. The rest of the data tapes are too badly damaged to be read." Fury asked if there had been anything about who was in the tube and he was quickly told that there was an entry about the Russians having been followed by a female agent. "I believe we may have stumbled upon Margaret Carter, sir," Coulson finished. A long pause stretched between the two until Fury finally spoke again.

"Drop the papers off with Stark and convey the speed with which he should be working on deciphering them," Fury finally said before ending the call. Coulson wanted to drop the pages and hurry back to pull the records of Carter's last mission, but he had a feeling that Fury was already raising hell to get said files and there was no way he was going to share them until he had them memorized.

**

The next day, Agent Coulson took a seat in front of Director Fury's desk. The two men stared at each other for a moment before Fury asked for an update on “The Situation.” With a small, wry grin Coulson let Fury know that Tony Stark had pounced upon the technical papers like a cat on catnip. He had then shown up at the site at almost midnight and had yet to leave.

"I expect we'll have some results by the end of the day," he finished and Fury could only shake his head and roll his eyes. Stark was a pain in his ass, but the man knew his business. Coulson quickly ran down the rest of the progress made at the site before sitting back in his chair and waiting.

"Agent Carter went missing in the spring of 1948 after being sent on a mission by then SSR Director Jack Thompson. She was fitted with a transmitter designed and manufactured by Howard Stark that functioned perfectly until April 18, 1948," Fury informed Coulson before handing him a folder. "The SSR ran fast and loose in those days and Carter was ordered to only check in if she thought she was in trouble, had significant information or completed her mission. As a result, details of the mission are scarce." 

Coulson opened the folder and found exactly three pieces of paper inside: The initial mission details, the medical report outlining the transmitter insertion, and the final mission report. "She was declared MIA after three weeks of intensive searches and eventually declared KIA in 1958. The fallout of her supposed death was massive." Coulson slid the nearly empty folder back onto Fury's desk. He did know the fallout of this particular mission.

Jack Thompson had spent several weeks sitting in a room with various officials from the American and British governments, all of whom were looking to blame someone for this. Nothing was off limits in this investigation including his time as both an SSR agent and the organization's director, his professional relationship with his colleagues, any personal relationship he might have had with Carter, and his war record. By the time all was said and done, all of Jack Thompson's secrets, including the accidental shooting of surrendering Japanese soldiers and his love of the bottle, were laid bare. When he finally did return to work, it was as a mostly desk-bound agent.

Thompson wasn't the only casualty of Carter's disappearance. The discussions about purposefully recruiting female agents was tabled and not picked up again until the mid ‘50s. When they were allowed to join SHIELD, they were barred from field work. As a result, until 1976, female agents were relegated to a mostly secretarial role and SHIELD found most of its female agents leaving within a few years of joining the organization. However, there were some beneficial consequences as well. Anyone on a deep cover mission was required to have not only a handler and some kind of transmitter beacon, but also a safe house and emergency exit should the mission go south.

"Carter's original mission was to track a group of four Russians suspected of espionage and gather enough evidence to allow the SSR to step in an arrest them. Her secondary mission was to confirm or dismiss the rumors of the Red Room and the Winter Soldier projects. If these journals are accurate, she not only found the Russians, but confirmed that both rumors were true." 

The men sat back in their respective chairs to consider the information between them. "Look, Coulson, we are rapidly approaching the shit or get off the pot moment here. Stark is doing what he can to salvage the data tapes, but until he comes back with something, the only way to know what was done to her is to wake her up."

  Coulson nodded his understanding and agreed that as soon as Stark had worked out the machine, they'd proceed. The conversation quickly wrapped up after that and Coulson headed back to his office. Since they were definitely going to welcome Margaret Carter back to the land of the living, there were plans to be made.

**

The morning of the extraction, Coulson woke up to find an email from Stark.

_Coulson,_

_The machine is basically an artificial womb with the fluid in the tube acting as amniotic fluid. It protects the subject from physical harm, regulates temperature, acts as an immune system, filters out waste, all that good stuff. It also functions as a sedative, provides a minor electrical charge, enough to keep muscles stimulated so they don't atrophy._

_I'd like to shake the hand of the man who invented this._

_I also took the liberty doing your job for you. Our pod person is one of yours (was one of yours?) by the name of Margaret Carter._

_Stark._

"Smug bastard," Coulson muttered as he forwarded the email to Fury before getting up and getting ready for the day. Five hours later he watched as Carter was removed from the stasis tube, declared unconscious but stable, and sent off to SHIELD's medical facilities to recover.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Days later, Fury and Coulson stood outside of the hospital room that held Carter and watched as Helen Cho circled the bed, checking on vital signs, reflexes and brain activity. She was still unconscious, but Carter was showing signs of starting to wake up, even if it was quite slowly.

"There must have been some kind of post stasis injection or infusion," Cho guessed when she left the room. "Then again, maybe the slow waking process was purposeful. This would be the ideal time to implant memories or suggestions, if you had the right resources." The men shared a look but neither one said anything.

"Any chance of speeding this along,” Fury asked. Though SHIELD had done its best to keep the situation under wraps, word had leaked out and he was dealing with dozen of VIPs demanding answers and information that he couldn't, or wouldn't, provide. 

Cho took a deep breath as she considered her options for a long moment. Hesitantly she admitted that a dose of adrenalin or another stimulant might work, but there was no way of knowing what reaction Carter would have. A stimulant may do exactly what they want it to do, it may do nothing or it may leave her brain damaged. 

A displeased look fell over Fury's face, but he didn't push the issue. "Keep me posted," he finally said. He then offered a reminder about keeping the ward sealed to everyone but them and Cho's team before turning and leaving the medical ward. They both watched him go for a moment before Cho watched as Coulson allowed himself to approach the viewing window once again. Before long, Cho came over to join him.

"I read about what happened when Captain Rogers first awoke," she told him, both of them focused on the slow rise and fall of the patient’s chest. "I must strongly advise against attempting anything of the sort." He nodded and didn't ask her to elaborate because he already knew the reason why. They had been prepared for Rogers, they knew what Erskine had done to him and about the effects of the serum and they'd been able to contain him and calm him down fairly quickly. Carter, on the other hand, was a complete mystery. They had no idea what the Russians had been pumping into her for the last 70 years let alone if they had started to brainwash her. For all they knew, she could wake up and prove that the Winter Soldier was more than just rumor and myth. "Speaking of Captain Rogers," Cho started, breaking Coulson from his train of thought.

"He's not to know," he said without hesitation. "Not until we have something concrete to tell." 

He fixed the doctor with a hard look and she nodded her understanding. After she had been appointed the Avengers official physician, she had spent a few weeks pouring over all the records, news reels and other reports she could get her hands on and in one of them, she'd seen the picture inside Rogers' compass. It hadn't taken her long to recognize the picture in the face of the young woman they had pulled from the stasis unit. She nodded her understanding and with one last look in at Carter, Coulson finally turned and left while Cho settled herself at the desk under Carter's observation window to finish her notes.

**

She would give anything if someone would just turn off that damned alarm that kept beeping. She was absolutely exhausted, her entire body heavy with fatigue, but she was unable to get any real sleep because of that damned beeping. Just as she was starting to put serious thought into pulling herself up and doing something about it, the sound started to fade and sleep claimed her once again.

**

The bloody alarm was _still_ going off the next time she woke up, but the itch in her nose was slightly more pressing. She twitched her nose, hoping to fix the issue that way, but it was no good. With a supreme amount of effort, she lifted a hand and all but dropped it onto her face and rubbed only to feel some kind of tube resting below her nose. She clumsily moved her hand along it to find that it ran along her face before disappearing behind her ear. As she dropped her hand back onto the bed, she had a fleeting thought that maybe they were gassing her with something. As she turned her attention to who 'they' might be, both the itch and the beeping started to fade away once again.

**

"Bloody hell," she muttered when she woke to the beeping yet again. She forced her eyes open, blinking repeatedly as she tried to clear the blur away and focus on something.

"Agent Carter?" She grew still when she heard the voice, trying to decide if she was imagining it or not. "If you can hear me, squeeze my hand," the voice continued and she felt a hand worming its way into her own. 

She let her head flop over to the side and tried to focus on whoever was talking to her, but it was all just a blur. Her sluggish mind was trying to decide if she should obey the command or not when it was issued again. Finally deciding she had nothing to lose, she did as she was asked. The hand soon disappeared and a few seconds later it was in her other hand and she was being asked to squeeze again. She turned her head again, trying to force her eyes to focus, but the world was still a blur. She soon closed her eyes again and followed the command. "How are you feeling?" the voice asked and Carter found she had to think about that for a bit.

"Tired," she finally got out, her words a little slurred. The voice chuckled and told her to go back to sleep, that she'd look in on her soon. "Turn the 'larm off," she muttered as sleep started to drag her under. She didn't hear the answer.

**

"I've introduced a small amount of adrenalin into her system to try and hurry things along a bit," Cho told Coulson. "Over the past two days she's had several periods of wakefulness and I was able to perform a brief neurological test the last time she was awake."

"You're confident there's no brain damage?" he asked, slightly confused as to why the doctor was suddenly providing a stimulant after issuing warnings against forcing Carter to wake up prematurely.

"I'm comfortable enough to give her a stimulant," she replied. "Her reflexes are good, she's talking, responding to commands and other neurological indicators are looking good. However, there's no telling what state her memory is in until she's more coherent and we can question her properly." Coulson considered this for a long moment as he looked through the observation window at Carter.

"How much longer until she's fully conscious?" he finally asked.

"I have no idea," Cho replied. "The adrenalin might be enough to have her awake by this afternoon or she may remain under for another week. The closest thing we can compare her recovery to is that of a coma victim but their recoveries are usually slow because of physical damage and brain injury. This is a result of whatever cocktail of drugs she's been on for the last 70 years." 

Agent Coulson let his gaze linger on Carter for another few seconds before shifting his attention to Cho. He offered his thanks and then quickly left the ward once again. After he was gone, Cho took up her sentry post at the desk once again.

**

This time when she awoke to the beeping, Peggy flailed an arm out to the side, hoping to blindly hit the off button on whatever kept going off. Unfortunately, the more she flailed, the more insistent the beeping became. Finally, she cracked an eye open to see what the issue was only to have her gaze settle on a machine she'd never seen before. 

With her arm hanging in midair, Peggy studied the machine. She laid her hand on the wires and followed them to where they were attached to pads stuck to her chest and soon realized that it was some kind of heart rate monitor. She also quickly realized that several tubes were attached to her arm with a variety of tape and some kind of clear dressing that was starting to itch like mad. She followed the tubes up to several bags of fluid hanging from a pole.

  It quickly dawned on her that whoever had her was sending some kind of fluid, probably drugs of some kind, into her system and she felt herself starting to panic. The feeling only intensified when the rhythmic beeping started to speed up as well. Not wanting to draw any attention to herself just yet, she slammed her eyes closed and forced herself to slow her breathing and heart rate back to a more regular pace. As the beeping slowed, she opened her eyes once more. Time to try and figure out where she was.

She was obviously in some kind of medical facility, the monitoring equipment and intravenous solutions a dead give away. But she had never seen a medical suit like this before. There was only one large window in the room and it looked out onto the nurses station. There were no chairs for visitors in the room, no furniture at all really besides her bed, a small table and some kind of cabinet with yet another machine she'd never seen before on top of it. If this room reminded her of anything, it reminded her of a procedure room and as that thought settled in her brain, how she had ended up in the room came flooding back.

She'd been trailing a group of suspected Russian spies for months and one of them had finally led her to a building. She'd followed him in, had pressed her ear up against the door to listen and then . . . she'd woken up in a dirty concrete room, restrained with heavy leather straps to an uncomfortable table. The Russians looked on, all of them whispering to each other and grinning in her direction before the closest one had cut her jacket and blouse up to her elbow, swabbed her with alcohol and then jabbed her with a needle that had made her whole arm burn and her eyes water. The next jab had made her cry out before her vision had faded from grey to black.

Her heart rate sped up again at the thought of still being at the mercy of the Russians and this time she couldn't calm herself down. Before long, she found herself gasping for breath while a cold sweat started to form between her shoulder blades. Almost immediately, alarms started screaming and people started rushing into the room. They called out orders to each other while one of them spoke to her directly. She fought the mask they tried to put over her face but she was no match for them, especially once they began to restrain her. She felt tears start to spill down the sides of her face at the same time as she felt a sharp prick on her thigh.

"It's all right, Agent Carter," she finally heard a vaguely familiar voice say. "You're having a panic attack. You're fine, we gave you something to help you calm down." She did her best to focus on the voice, but her head was already starting to swim with whatever they'd given her. "Just relax, Agent Carter," the voice told her again. "You're in good hands." She felt a familiar hand slip into her own and as darkness pulled her under, she squeezed the fingers.

**

Phil Coulson sighed heavily as he entered his office and closed the door behind him. While he was glad that the stimulant had worked and Carter was now completely conscious, he wished it had taken a little longer. 

After Rogers had bolted out of the mock-up room and straight into the middle of Times Square, it had been easy to break the news to him that he'd lost 70 years since he was standing in the middle of the evidence. Truth be told, part of him wished they'd tried the same tactic on her.

With the hope that his subconscious would generate a plan, Coulson pulled several files from the ever-growing stack on his desk. The first few required nothing more than a signature of approval, but the next one made him sigh heavily. Apparently Margaret Carter was not going to be denied, he thought to himself as he opened the folder and stared at the test results before flipping to the summation.

She was in excellent health, so he supposed that was something. The full genetic profile hadn't been completed yet, but what had been completed was showing many of the same traits as Captain Rogers. But there were several traits they'd never seen before that were going to have to be investigated further. 

Coulson supposed the news could be worse, but it also could have been better. By the late 1940s, the Russians had been closer to recreating Erskine's serum than American scientists had ever been. Hell, they had been closer in the 1940s than the handful of scientists still working on recreating the serum were today. 

He had to admit that between the technology used to create the stasis unit and now this serum, he was concerned about just how much more advanced the Russians had been than the Americans during the Cold War. The longer he thought on this, the more he wondered if America really had bankrupt Russia with the arms race or if they had just given up in order to focus on Red Room operations and implementing whatever the serum had evolved into over the years.

The revelation also led him to wonder if Russia's incursions into the Ukraine were posturing or a test. Maybe they had a group of Russian Steve Rogers ready to deploy and wanted to test their field readiness. Hell, maybe the Russians had been testing out altered soldiers since the 50s. The Korean conflict would have been the perfect opportunity for them and it was known that, despite denials, Russian pilots had participated in the war. 

The more Coulson considered the larger ramifications of Carter's capture, the more he felt like he was chasing conspiracy theories.

The Kennedy assassination immediately popped into his head along with the popular theory that Oswald had been a distraction and the actual assassin had been elsewhere, on the so called Grassy Knoll, and had disappeared in the chaos. A well trained marksman who had been given enhanced vision and reflexes . . . Well, it was enough to make a man wonder.

Shaking himself back into the present, he closed the medical folder and put it to the side, knocking a different folder to the floor. With a sigh, he leaned over and picked it up only to see that it was Carter's original SSR folder that Fury had pulled to review before giving it to him. Coulson moved to place the folder in his outbox, but hesitated. He hadn't really read the folder, merely skimmed it for relevant information before leaving it on his desk. Maybe now was the time to give it his full attention.

The first thing he noticed was that she had joined the British Forces just after her 18th birthday and hadn't looked back. She'd done her time as a nurse before being scouted by the SSR. Her first undercover mission soon followed:  Retrieve Dr. Erskine and return him to the UK and then the US. She'd spent the next few years unofficially keeping an eye on Captain Rogers while in Europe and helping to supervise the dismantling of Hydra.

She was obviously very smart and extremely capable given the amount of responsibility and autonomy she had gained within the SSR at such a young age. A Colonel C. Phillips had left a note about her being "a headstrong pain in my ass" but had followed up that complaint by complementing her on being one of the finest soldiers he'd ever worked with, male or female.

Her post-war career had been less than stellar and a definite step down. From the notes, it appeared that she had been kept on at the SSR as favors to Howard Stark and Colonel Phillips and that she had been bounced around from department to department until a Roger Dooley had been forced to give her a desk. He'd weighed her down with codebreaking and secretarial tasks until she proved herself by working as a double agent to clear Stark of treason charges. After Jack Thompson took over, however, Carter found herself codebreaking and running errands again until her last mission.

Finishing the file, he tossed it back on his desk and sat back in his chair. Margaret Carter was an intelligent, competent, adaptable woman who had proven herself time and time again only to succumb to the pitfalls of being a woman in the 1940s. As much as he hated to admit it, Coulson was not going to be able to pussy foot around with Carter. He was just going to have to come right out, tell her the truth and deal with the fallout.

**

Carter awoke to the ever present beeping and itch in her nose. She opened her eyes slowly and was slightly relieved to see the same four blank walls. She turned her head to look toward the window only to realize that there was someone nodding off while sitting in a chair next to her bed. With a sense of caution built from working and sleeping with soldiers, she reached out a hand and gave the napper's knee a squeeze. She jerked her hand back, banging it on the guard rail in her haste, when the person awoke.

"Good afternoon," Carter offered quietly with a weak smile.

"Evening is more like it," the woman replied and Carter instantly recognized her voice. She couldn't help but ask if this stranger ever went home. "Not when there's a VIP on the floor. Doctor Helen Cho," she said, finally introducing herself.

"Peggy Carter," she replied, starting to reach out with her right hand before the pull reminded her that hand was tethered to the IV bags.

"Agent Coulson would like to speak to you as soon as I release you, but until then, I can tell you that you're in New York in a facility own by SHIELD, an offshoot of the SSR." 

Cho watched as the tension in Carter's face lessened and she allowed herself to take a deep breath and sink into the pillows a little more. When she opened her eyes again, Cho was still there, offering a smile before standing up. She leaned over the bed slightly, telling her that she didn't need the oxygen anymore while removing the tubing from behind her ears and from her nose. Carter rubbed her nose a little while watching Cho circle the bed to examine the bags of fluid before returning to her seat. The women soon struck up a conversation and it wasn't lost on Peggy that every time she tried to ferret more information out of Cho, the doctor artfully changed the subject. She did her best to get ahead of the other woman, but she was having no luck. She was too tired to play this game to the best of her ability.

"Sorry," Peggy apologized as a large yawn caught her off guard. Cho waved her off and assured her it was fine, that the last of the sedative was working it's way out of her system.

"I'll be nearby," she assured Peggy before pointing out the call button and dimming the lights as she slipped out of the room.

Peggy lay in the dark, silent room for a long moment, trying to decide if she really believed Doctor Cho's story, that she really was in New York in an SSR facility. She'd lost consciousness after the second injection the Russians had given her. She could easily have been out long enough for them to move her to God knows where. Then again, the room she was in didn't look anything like any of the Russian facilities she'd seen, even the handful they'd discovered in New York while hunting down the HYDRA sleeper cells.

Either way, there wasn't much she could do about it in her current state. Any significant changes in her heart rate would send the machine into a frenzy, she was still attached to several pieces of IV tubing and was fairly certain that she was the proud owner of a catheter, something that was definitely going to keep her in bed. Without any other options, Peggy decided to simply play along. She'd rest up, regain her strength so that, if need be, she could save herself.

Confident that she had a solid, workable plan, Carter relaxed into the bed and allowed herself to drift off once more.

**

Days later, Phil Coulson was forcing himself to pay attention while Steve Rogers gave him a rundown on his recently completed mission, but him mind was elsewhere. As much as he enjoyed listening to Captain America regale him with tales of heroics and daring deeds, Coulson's mind was far more invested in the fact that Helen Cho had finally cleared Agent Carter to leave the medical ward. She was still restricted to a small number of floors and facilities, but the task of keeping her a secret had just gotten exponentially more difficult.

According to Cho, now that what ever drugs had been in her system seemed to have been flushed out, Carter was revealing herself to be the cunning strategist that had been the bane of so many within the SSR. She was adept at finding cracks in the cover stories Cho had been told to feed her and her suspicions about SHIELD, Cho and any other number of things was growing. Coulson couldn't help but wonder if Cho had only cleared her so that he could nip Carter's growing suspicions in the bud.

Suddenly, Captain Rogers' voice interrupted his train of thought. "Sir, if you have somewhere else to be, I can come back." He quickly snapped back into the moment, took a quick look at his watch and apologized to Steve, telling the man to continue. Rogers narrowed his eyes and observed Coulson for a moment before picking up where he'd left off. He soon finished up and Coulson sent him on his way, realizing that the last 10 minutes of the man's report had become far less detailed than the first 40 minutes had been. Rogers would make up for it in his written report, but Coulson still took a minute to berate himself for being so unfocused. 

Checking his watch again, the agent pulled a small, dog-eared folder from his desk and began to review the contents. He and Fury had been trading paper over what exactly they needed to tell Carter to gain her trust and what to keep from her until she had gained theirs. Because as paranoid as Carter was about still being in the hands of Russians spies, SHIELD was twice as worried about Carter being a pawn to whoever had inherited HYDRA and Red Room operations.

Suddenly, his phone began to ring and without hesitation he answered. Carter was ready to talk and he had no more time to delay.

**

Peggy slipped gingerly off the bed and grasped of the safety rails on the bed until she was sure of her balance and then carefully walked the length of the room. 

"Apparently my mother's nagging about the consequences of lazing in bed were true," she quipped with a small smile as she faltered and had to raise a hand to balance herself on the wall. She walked the same path a few more times until the three of them were satisfied that she'd found her balance again. She was quickly handed a set of clothing with apologies for the fact that they looked like pajamas, but Peggy was just grateful to no longer be wearing a gown that flapped open in the back.

"I also scrounged up this," Cho said, handing her a small toiletries bag before telling her there were towels in the bathroom. She thanked the woman again before disappearing into the small ensuite. One military shower later, Carter was scraping her hair back into a sad excuse for a bun and slipping on a pair of plimsolls before being escorted to Agent Coulson's office by two strapping young men with badges on their chests and guns at their hips.

She allowed herself to take in the architecture during her walk, the way that the steel, glass and concrete came together to form the structure until she caught sight of something that made her steps falter; a tall, well built young man with blond hair and a very familiar gait.

"Ma'am?" one of her escorts called out. She watched as the blond man on another walkway turned and looked in her direction and as their eyes met, his steps faltered and she found herself drawing in a shaky breath.

"Steve," she gasped before one of her escorts stepped back and grasped her by the arm.

 


	4. Chapter 4

"Steve," she gasped before one of her escorts stepped back and grasped her by the arm.

"We're late, ma'am," he said, trying to start her moving again but she shook her arm free and moved closer to the railing of the walkway while he did the same. Her hands wrapped around the stainless steel top bar as she let her eyes run over him, taking in every detail of his appearance, unsure if she was trying to convince herself if he was real or if she was seeing things. 

She could hear the escorts having a hushed conversation behind her, but she didn't care. "Ma'am, we really have to go," the men said as they flanked her. When she still didn't move, they finally grasped her by both arms and did their best to lead her away but she was done being led around like a small child.

"No," she said, her voice firm and commanding as she planted her feet and shifted her weight back, forcing the men to stumble slightly and loosen their grips as their balance faltered. Moving on instinct, she twisted one arm free before shifting her weight to kick one of the men in the knee, causing him to crash to the ground. She quickly shifted again and tackled the other man, driving him into the railing and knocking the wind out of him. She quickly landed a solid right hook with enough force behind it to send the man to the floor where he landed with a bang. She kicked into the ribs of the first man to make sure he was down before she turned and ran, intent on finding the stairwell and heading for the street.

Steve watched her take the men down before running off and he couldn't help but curse under his breath as he quickly took off after her. He knew the walkways connected further down the way and he hoped to intercept her there. He wanted to call out to her, but he didn't want to startle her or draw anymore attention to the situation that he absolutely had to. Finally, he saw the connecting bridge coming up and he poured on some more speed before vaulting over the corner railings to shave a few more seconds off of his pursuit.

"Peggy!" he finally called out when she stopped just long enough to try and push open a door. She glanced over her shoulder at him before trying the door once more. When it failed to give, she took off again. "Carter!" he called again as he finally began to close the gap. She paused at another door and he finally caught her. She turned immediately and struck out at him, but he blocked her blows and eventually managed to wrap his arms around her. He pulled her in tight, her back pressed up against his chest, as he tried to reason with her. He repeated, several times, that it was him and that she needed to calm down, but she was firmly stuck in fight mode. Giving up on reasoning with her, he awkwardly marched them both into the room. A quick look around told him it was an office turned storage room. Keeping one arm around her, he quickly flicked the lock on the door and jammed a chair under the handle to keep it from opening.

"Let go of me!" she snarled as she worked at wrenching herself free from his arms. This man may look and sound like Steve Rogers, but she knew better. He had plunged the Valkyrie into the Northern Atlantic and despite a year and a half of looking, Howard had found nothing. He was a trick or an imposter and she would be damned if they were going to use him against her.

"When we were in the back of that car in Brooklyn, I pointed out all the alleys and parking lots I had been beat up in," he told her as he moved them towards the centre of the room. "I stumbled over calling you a dame and a woman before settling on agent and you remarked that I had no idea how to talk to women." As Steve kept recounting what they had discussed in the car, she slowly stopped struggling against him. "And when the spy was getting away, I pulled you out of the way and down to the ground when the car didn't stop coming," he finished.

"And I yelled at you that I had him," she replied slowly.

"And I apologized," he finished, feeling a little bit more tension leach out of her. Tentatively he loosened his hold on her and she turned to look at him, really look at him.

"You died," she told him as she stepped away from him slightly and turned to look at him.

"I froze," he corrected. "The Valkyrie surfaced in the Arctic and SHIELD thawed me out about four years ago in 2011. What about you?" he asked rather casually as he pulled two chairs from a stack and placed them at the lone table in the room. She continued to study him for a long moment, searching his face for deception.

"I was trailing a group of suspected Russian spies in 1948," she finally replied, cautiously sitting down. "One of them got the drop on me," she offered him nothing more before asking where and when they were.

"SHIELD headquarters, New York, 2015," he answered calmly as he pulled his chair in closer to the table before resting both of his hands on the surface so she could see them. "The SSR became SHIELD in the early 1950s," he explained, watching her carefully as she nodded. Steve watched as her brow furrowed and she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth as she absorbed the information. A thick, heavy silence fell over them for a long moment until alarms began sounding, jolting them both out of their own heads.

"I, um," she started, raising a hand up to wipe at the corner of an eye. "I should go and apologize for all the bother I caused."

"Stay," he told her, reaching out a hand toward her. He waited as she considered all her options before even placing her hands on top of the table. It took several more minutes and several more pairs of boots thumping past outside the door before Peggy Carter unclenched her fist to grasp Steve's hand and hang on.

As another set of boots thumped past, he gave her hand a squeeze and held on while she came to terms with what he'd just told her.

***

"I'm gonna call Coulson, OK?" he asked her, breaking the silence that had fallen on the room long ago. He waited for a response, but one didn't come. "Peggy?" he called a couple of times, his voice getting a little louder each time until she finally looked at him, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights. Steve repeated himself and waited until she nodded dumbly and let her focus shift back to some patch of floor in front of her. He frowned at her response, unable to ever remember seeing her like this but as he stood and headed towards the phone, he reminded himself that he'd never told her she just lost 70 years of her life before.

As he talked Coulson into calling off the troops, Steve kept an eye on Peggy. She had straightened up in her chair and was at least looking around, so he figured that was something. Steve trailed off, somewhat distracted for a moment by Peggy suddenly standing and marching over to the windows before snapping back into the conversation at hand. As he heard the chain of the blinds rattling against the window, he wrapped the conversation up with half promises before all but hanging up on the other man and turning in time to watch as she opened the blinds and stared out at New York.

"Good Lord," she commented, mostly to herself, as she took int he busy, crowded view. While there had been a fair amount of skyscrapers when she had left, but nothing like this. Towers of glass and steel reflected the sun and made the spaces between buildings all that much darker. A rumbling in the distance caught her attention and she leaned into the glass, searching the sky until she saw an impossibly large airplane in the air.

"Wait until you see Times Square," Steve said as he came to stand just behind her shoulder and look out the window with her. Peggy turned and looked at him over her shoulder for a moment before turning back to the window. The scanned the skyline once more before looking down, shaking her head a little at the masses of people and cars moving on the streets below.

"And Central Park?" she asked after a long moment.

"Big, green," Steve replied with a bit of a shrug. "Hasn't changed much. Most of the parks haven't." Peggy nodded thoughtfully, thankful that at least one thing hadn't changed in the time she'd been . . . asleep? She still wasn't completely sure what had happened, but asleep seemed to be the most accurate term, at least for the moment.

"Agent Coulson," she said, turning suddenly to look back at him. He shrugged a little and told her it didn't matter, that he had informed Coulson they'd be in his office when they were ready to be there. Steve watched as her shoulders relaxed slightly as she nodded her understanding and turned back to the window again. Silence fell over them again and they slowly began to move down the wall of windows, stopping for long moments to observe the skyline and update their own personal visual records.

An hour later, they were standing side by side at the far side of the room, her hand tucked safely into his once again as he pointed out the handful of buildings he knew.

***

Phil Coulson sighed and rubbed at the tension headache that was starting to form across his forehead. He should have been done interviewing Carter by now and he had Fury and a handful of other VIPs calling him regularly to remind him of that fact but all he could do was apologize over and over again and make excuses. If he had been able to keep his mind on his work, none of this would have happened. He would have finished his debrief with Rogers, sent him on his way and then called for Carter. Rogers would have been no where near Carter then, they wouldn't have seen each other and he wouldn't have two agents in the infirmary and half a wasted day.

Coulson had also realized that he had SNAFU'd Carter's introduction to the twenty-first century just as badly as they had screwed up Rogers' introduction. While there had been no elaborate play acting, he had tried to keep Margaret Carter ignorant to her situation, had offered no concrete evidence that she was in friendly hands and was now suffering the consequences of the choice, only this time he had no one to blame but himself.

"Sir? Agent Carter and Captain Rogers are here." He jumped a little at the sound of his secretary's voice coming through the intercom, but he recovered quickly, jamming a finger into the reply button and telling her to send them in before quickly sitting up straight and adjusting his tie and hair. As the two stepped into the room, he watched Steve shut the door behind him before leaning against it, arms crossed over his chest while Carter came to a stop in front of his desk. He offered them both a seat, but only Carter accepted the offer. Steve Rogers remained where he was, making it clear to Coulson that he was there to keep an eye on the situation where Coulson wanted him there or not.

”Before we start, I'd like to apologize," he told her, folding his hands on the desk in front of him and looking her right in the eye. "Doctor Cho and her staff provided you with a minimum of information on my orders. I felt at the time that coming to terms with your circumstances would be easier done while you were completely present."

"I suppose I should be thankful you didn't try to convince me it was still 1948," she replied calmly, wearing a smile that said butter wouldn't melt in her mouth. Rogers bit back a snort and Coulson felt a rush of heat moving up his neck. He quickly cleared his throat and pulled the relevant files onto his desk in front of him.

"Let's begin, shall we?" he asked, charging ahead and trying to regain the upper hand.

"Certainly," she said, adjusting her position slightly. "Tell me about SHIELD, Agent Coulson," she requested. Carter waited patiently as Coulson blinked several times before he finally began a hesitant and limited explanation of the agency. She nodded thoughtfully before asking more questions about SHIELD, the SSR, and himself. 

When she was done, she turned slightly to look at Rogers who simply gave her a nod of his head. Carter then sighed and relaxed in her chair slightly but continued to hold Coulson's gaze. As she continued to stare, he couldn't help but shift in his seat. She was making him squirm, if he was going to be completely honest with himself. "What would you like to know, Agent Coulson,” she finally asked. Though it took a moment, Coulson soon snapped back to work and pulled his folders towards himself and flipped the first one open.

"When did you join the SSR,” he asked, deciding to start at the very beginning of her file. While the DNA tests proved that she was who she was and the neurologists had declared her competent he wanted to make sure of her mental state himself. Any information they got from her would be useless unless he could confirm her long term memories were accurate.

"1941," she replied without hesitation. "I had been a member of the British Forces since I was 18 working as an analysis and code breaker until the SSR recruited me." Coulson quickly checked this against her record before moving on to the next question. Once he was satisfied that the time in stasis hadn't affected her memories, he asked her about her last mission.

"They were a group of four," she explained, skipping broad strokes of the mission. "They were very good at their jobs and very aware of their surroundings. I know they never saw me, but they seemed to have the ability to simply sense me nearby. It took me four months to even lay eyes on all four men." Carter explained how they were never seen together, how she'd never been able to catch more than one of them on the street at a time and that she had eventually tracked one of the men to a run down building in an industrial area.

"He must have been distracted by something as he made no attempts to vary his route that day. I was able to follow him into the building. We entered through a fire door and after a short flight of stairs, there was a second door that was locked. I was preparing to pick the lock when I was struck," she concluded, reaching up almost absently to rub at the spot where she had been hit. "Some kind of pipe, I imagine. When I awoke, I was restrained on a table and the four of them were huddled together, deep in discussion. As soon as they realized I was awake, one came over and cut my sleeve to the elbow." Coulson's eyes darted down and watched as she placed a hand over her elbow before returning his focus to her face. "They swabbed my elbow and then injected me with . . . something. It burned, but wasn't unbearable. There was a second injection after that . . ." she trailed, still absently rubbing at the inside of her elbow. "The next thing I knew, I was here."

Coulson made a few more notes before flipping through one of the folders and pulling out a sheet of paper that he handed to Carter. He quickly explained that while confirming her identity, they had run a genetic analysis.

"You're on the top," he told her as he tidied up his desk slightly. Peggy studied the graphs and notations carefully. She didn't completely understand what she was looking at, but she did realize that many of the sections highlighted on the bar that was her were an exact match to highlighted section of the bar directly below hers.

"Who's on the bottom?" she asked after a long moment.

"Captain Rogers," Agent Coulson answered calmly.

**

In the days following the revelation that she now shared several genetic markers in common with Steve Rogers, Peggy found herself fulfilling the role of lab rat for the SHIELD scientists. Every morning, after breakfast, she was escorted to a room where she was promptly hooked up to various machine and put through various physical tests. After lunch, the physical tests were replaced with mental tests, but the scientists and machines remained. Her least favorite test, however, was the one that occurred once a week: a visit to a SHIELD psychiatrist.

During the first visit, the psychiatrist had spent a great deal of time explaining the advances that had been made in the field of psychiatry. She spoke of advances in therapeutic technique, in the understanding of the brain itself, and in the manufacture and use of prescription drugs. She'd also spent a great deal of time talking about how the stigma surrounding those with mental health issues, or those simply seeing a psychiatrist had diminished greatly, to the point where mental health was discussed openly and honestly, even within the military complex. Peggy had looked long and hard at the young woman sitting across from her before giving a curt nod of understanding. Obviously, this was all supposed to make her comfortable enough to lower her guard and answer any questions asked of her but Peggy had also noticed that there had been no assurances toward discretion and privacy made; whatever she said in this room was not going to remain in this room. With that in mind, she couldn't help but be guarded with her answers. The fact that she didn't completely trust SHIELD didn't help matters much.

Since the meeting with Coulson, her life had become a series of routines, and her nightly dinner with Steve was no exception. Every night at 5:30 he'd knock on her door to escort her to the cafeteria. They'd pass quietly through the serving line and then settle themselves at a small table near the back of the room, under a window. Once they were settled, she'd tell him stories about working for the SSR and the trouble Howard Stark managed to get himself into before Steve would take over and talk about working for SHIELD. It didn't take her long to notice that he never really mentioned any work colleagues.

"Surely you're not out in the field by yourself," she'd eventually commented.

"Of course not," he replied quickly. "I have a team, sort of. They're not the Howling Commandos, but they're good, really, really good." She prompted him for more, but he squirmed instead. "I'd love you tell you about them, it's just . . . " he trailed off and she put the rest together. He was either under orders not to tell her or he simply wasn't sure if he could tell her about them. His team, whoever they may be, were just the latest in a growing list of things he couldn't or wouldn't tell her. While she understood that military protocol kept him from talking about somethings, she wondered about the other secrets he was keeping. She couldn't really fault him though; he'd had four years to build a life here, just as she'd had three to build a life after the war. There was also the fact that she had things she didn't want to share with him right now and turn about was fair play.

"I'll add this to the list," she assured him with a smile. It hadn't taken him long to offer her a small note book, much like his own, so that she could jot down things she wanted to learn more about when she had the time.

"I must have my own section by now," he commented, a faint blush creeping into his cheeks. Peggy couldn't help but smile, pleased to see that some part of the bashful young man she'd met all those years ago was still alive and well. She didn't have many constants to use as anchors in this future, but Steve Rogers and his self-deprecating humor was definitely one of her favorites.

"I've set aside the first 25 pages, just for you," she assured him with a shrug as she dragged a piece of pasta through some of the remaining sauce on her plate. He was about to ask if she was serious when she looked up at him with a cheeky little grin before eating the pasta. "Perhaps you should add 'humor' to that list of yours?"

"Cute," he told her. "Very cute." Peggy couldn't help but laugh at him. Her reminded her that it would be her turn to be the culturally ignorant one soon enough.

"In that case, you should be a gentleman and help a lady out!" she admonished him, reaching across the small table to swat his arm. Laughing, he played up the force behind the swat and began to plead for mercy while promising to bring her some things to read.

"Politics and military histories, right?" he asked, flashing her a cheeky grin of his own. With an eye roll and a shake of her head, she assured him that that was exactly what she had been thinking of. They shared another laugh before being interrupted by one of the kitchen staff coming to claim their trays. They offered their thanks before Steve checked his watch. "Come on, it's not too late." Without moving from her chair, she simply blinked at him. Though she hadn't tried to leave, every time she got a little too close to the doors that led outside, one of her escorts was there, ready to stop her if she tried. "A little trust, Agent Carter?" The cheeky little smile appeared on his face again and she was unable to resist the challenge. Grabbing the pull over she now carried with her everywhere, she let him lead the way through the corridors and into one of the stairwells.

"There's a lift . . . "

"Tell me you're not curious," Steve said. He knew that he was curious about what the Russian serum had done to her. Had it just kept her alive in the stasis tube, or had it given her improved abilities? He watched as she shifted her glance from him to the stairs and back again as her hands tightened and relaxed at her side. Just as he was getting ready to call this little experiment off and remind himself to mind his own business, he saw a flash of something across her face and by the time he realized it was the same look that had crossed her eyes before she had knocked Hodge down, she was already racing up the stairs, taking them two at a time with a hand on the banister to help lever herself forward. "Cheater!" he hollered before taking off after her.

As she raced up the stairs, Peggy wondered if this is what it had been like for Steve when he had taken off after the German spy; amazed at what was happening, at how effortless it was but unwilling and unable to stop and take the moment in. As she rounded a landing to the next flight, she glanced at the floor number and was baffled to see that she had already conquered two floors without getting winded and showed no signs of stopping any time soon. As she rounded another landing, she wondered if this is what racers felt when they competed; untouchable, invincible, free.

"On your right," Steve called as he breezed past her. She narrowed her eyes slightly while picking up her speed. She'd known he would be hard to compete with, if only because his stride was so much longer than hers. She imagined he could most likely take three stairs at a time with ease and that taking two was probably slowing his stride. On a whim, she experimented with taking three steps at a time, adding an almost jump to boost her to the next set of stairs. She kept this up for a full flight before returning to only two steps.

SHIELD's scientists never let her run like this. They had a series of runs programmed into the treadmill that would force her to run the pace and distance they wanted her to. It was the same with all the other physical tests they put her through. They were all designed so that she would work at their pace, lift their weight, stretch their distances. She had begun to wonder if the exercises were designed to allow the scientists to study her, but to keep her from realizing what she was capable of. Peggy wondered if SHIELD was afraid of what the Russians had turned her into. Truth be told, she was afraid of what the Russians might have turned her into.

"On your right," she heard herself say as she managed to break even with Steve after a few more floors. They flashed each other smiles before they settled into a more sedate pace until they reached the top of the stair well. "Amazing," she muttered, mostly to herself as she looked over the guard rail to see just how much distance they had covered.

"Come on," he said, nodding toward a door. She realized that they were both panting lightly and that there was a dotting of sweat along his hairline. Reaching up as if to check her hair, she realized that she was in much the same state he was; barely out of breath and only just beginning to sweat. "Some fresh air to end the evening?" She closed her eyes as he held the door open and let the rush of cool air wash over her.

"Yes, please," she said after a moment before stepping out onto the roof. She had been stuck inside of SHIELD for almost two weeks now and had started to forget what fresh air even felt like. It had been early April the last time she had been outside, a very cold and wet early April that reminded her a little too much of the winters in England. But now it was the middle of a May and warm enough during the day for the early evening to still be pleasant, even as high up as they were. The sun was just starting to set, casting long shadows between the buildings and sharp points of light reflecting from their windows. 

"When I was a girl, I thought London at night was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen," she said suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence between them. "All bright lights among a sea of people. But there is just something about New York at dusk that demands you to stop and appreciate it."

"You don't like New York at night?"

"I do," she said, finally looking over at him. "But there's just something about dusk, about the night and all its inhabitants coming to life." They studied each other for a moment before he finally returned her smile and shook his head a little. She offered him a shrug before turning back to the city but he continued to watch her a little longer before finally turning back to the city as well, doing his best to ignore the feeling settling in his gut.

He'd been on exactly three dates since arriving in the twenty-first century, thanks to Natasha Romanov and her unexplainable need to set him up. The girls had all been nice and sweet and had loved his "old fashioned manners" as they called them, but no matter how hard he had tried, he'd been unable to ignore the fact that the girls were all in their mid-20s while he was in his mid-90s, even if he didn't look like it. He'd ended the relationships before they had really even started, using his work schedule as an excuse and had begun to resign himself to the life of a bachelor. It was a hard pill to swallow though. Even as a tiny nobody in Brooklyn he'd imagined settling down with a girl, maybe having a kid or two that he'd raise along side the brood Bucky would have once he settled down. Steve had to admit that he'd started to give that idea a lot more though after meeting one Agent Peggy Carter. But then the war had gotten in the way, he'd crashed a plane nose first into the ice and woken up 70 years later. Suddenly, the idea of a wife, kids and a 9-to-5 job didn't hold all that much appeal any more.

And then she had called out his name in a corridor and his world had come to a screeching halt.

Now he was just as confused as he had been when he'd first sat in the back of that car with her, all jumbled thoughts and nervous words. He wanted to tell her everything he hadn't told her, all the things he couldn't tell her in '45. He wanted to spill his guts, pull her into his arms and kiss her until they were both out of breath but instead he stood a little too close, stared a little too long and teased her a little too much. He'd barely spent a week with her, but already he understood that age had just been an excuse with those other girls, the fact of the matter was that he was still helplessly, hopelessly in love with Peggy Carter and she was it for him.

But, as far as Peggy was concerned, they'd been apart for three years and had no idea if she'd moved on from him. He was pretty sure she hadn't married in that time; there was no ring on her finger and he had never seen her fingers move to play with a ring that wasn't on her finger, but there was no real way to know if she'd been seeing anyone. If he was honest with himself, he couldn't see why she wouldn't have been seeing someone. She was young, beautiful, smart, everything a guy could hope for in a woman. She was a catch and anyone who didn't see that was a fool, as far as he was concerned.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

"Nothing important," he told her, snapping back into the present and leaving his musings behind. "Just woolgathering," he clarified as he looked around and realized that the sun had made some significant progress in setting. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her pulling her arms tighter around herself and quickly slipped his jacket off, dropping it onto her shoulders without a word. She offered him a grateful smile as she slipped her arms into the sleeves and he wondered if it was for the jacket or because he hadn't suggested heading in.

When they did finally head in, after the sun had left the sky streaked with blues and purples, she handed him back his coat and thanked him. He told her not to worry, that he rarely found it cold this time of year but she just shook her head.

"Yes, for the coat, but more for tonight. For dinner and the stairs and the roof," she told him. The earnest look on her face made him blush and look down at his shoes. When he looked up at her again, he could tell there was more she wanted to say, but wouldn't. Whatever it was was too personal for her to say, at least right now. Instead of pushing, Steve simply nodded and told her she was welcome, that he had enjoyed it just as much as she had. Before long, they found themselves at her door. She offered him another thank you before bidding him good night.

"I'll drop those books about politics off tomorrow," he told her with a smile.

"Don't you dare forget my military histories," she reminded him sternly before finally slipping into the room and closing the door. Steve stood in front of the closed door for a moment, listening to the muffled sounds of Peggy moving around before finally stepping away and making his way down the hallway and eventually out of the building. Once outside and next to his motorcycle, he took a moment to tip his head back and stare up at the sky. He knew it was futile, but he scanned for a star or at least some piece of light he could trick himself into believing was a star before giving up and swinging a leg over the bike. With a last look over his shoulder at the SHIELD building Steve brought the bike to life and took off towards his own apartment.

***

As Steve slipped into Tony Stark's lab, he was sure the man knew he was there, even if he appeared to be completely focused on the reams of data displayed across two massive screens. Not wanting to interrupt, he stood quietly by the door waiting for either Stark or his AI JARVIS to draw attention to him.

"JARVIS, work on cleaning up blocks 223A through 225B, would ya?" Stark asked, pushing the data around the screen with a wave of his hand until only the blocks in question were displayed. He watched the progress for a moment before finally spinning in his chair to face Steve. The men stared at each other for a moment, neither really wanting to be the first to speak. They had come to a sort of agreement after New York, but their relationship still wasn't an easy one. "Cap," Tony finally said, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Stark," he replied, taking a few more steps into the room. "I need a favor. For a friend." He resisted the urge to squirm under Stark's gaze and instead picked a spot just over his shoulder to stare at, much like he used to do when Colonel Phillips was ripping into him for some stunt he'd pulled during a battle.

"This friend wouldn't happen to be the pod person, would it?" Stark replied with a grin that just cried out for being smacked off his face. Instead, Steve took a deep breath and let it out slowly as he counted to 10 in his head before answering.

"Agent Carter is as unprepared for life in the twenty-first century as I was," he said calmly, emphasizing the fact that Carter wasn't just some woman but an agent. "I was hoping you would lend her one of your tablets so she could start catching up on what she's missed."

"Sir, I'm sorry to interrupt, but I've manage to salvage 82.7 percent of the data contained within the specified blocks," JARVIS interrupted. Stark and Rogers stared at each other again until Stark turned back to the screens. He began skimming the data that was now displayed on the screen before he began fitting it into what he had pushed aside earlier. Tentatively, Rogers moved further into the room to get a better view of what was on the screens.

"You know the details about the pod room?" Stark asked without turning around.

"I found her by accident," Steve admitted as he came closer still. He began to read some of what was on the screen and though he didn't understand most of what was displayed, he was able to figure out that the data was observational notes of some kind of experiment.

"A bunch of workers found the room by accident. The stasis machine took up the back wall and the rest were lined with data tape machines. SHIELD's computer techs took one look at the tapes and declared them mostly unsalvageable, morons," he commented before explaining that he and JARVIS had been working on reconstructing the data since they got their hands on it. "We've gotten through roughly 30 percent of the data and have managed to reconstruct nearly 90 percent of that. I figure we've got a few more weeks of work and should manage to reconstruct 80 to 85 percent of the total data." Steve nodded, having understood enough of what Stark had explained to know that things were going well.

"This data, what exactly is it going to tell us?"

"Everything," Tony said, isolating and enlarging sections that had already been reconstructed, pointing out machine schematics, chemical formulas, life sign readings, log entries . . . the list went on and on and Steve found himself becoming overwhelmed. Whatever had been done to Peggy had not been quick, had not been a one time experiment. She had been experimented upon, tortured and used as a test subject. Just like Bucky.

 And he hadn't been able to save either of them.

"Stark," he said, finally finding his voice. Stark, however, continued to talk about the sheer amount of data and what they were going to be able to learn. Rogers called out to him again but was still ignored. "TONY!" he finally yelled, feeling some small sense of satisfaction as Stark jumped, stopped talking and finally turned to look at him. "A tablet. Can I have a tablet for Peggy?" Stark blinked at Steve for a moment, taking in the wild look in his eyes and the barely contained fury in his body before finally answering.

"Uh, yeah," he said, clearing the data before getting up from his chair. He quickly made his way across the room and pulled a tablet from a docking station. Steve watched as a series of commands were entered before it was dropped back into the docking station. Tony moved around the lab, gathering a few more bits and pieces before he finally packed everything into a small carrying case and handed it to Steve. "Tell Agent Carter it's hers with my complements," he said. Steve took the case with a nod, spun on his heel and left the lab as quickly as he could while Tony looked on.

***

Peggy paused just inside the doors to the gym and watched as Steve pummeled the heavy bag. She could see the sweat starting to stick his t-shirt to his back and wondered exactly how long he'd been here before she had come down.

She jumped when he sent the bag sailing across the room with a final grunt, chest heaving with the effort to suck in enough oxygen. As she watched him, she finally understood just how large and how powerful he could be when he wanted to.

"Steve," she finally called out to him. He whipped around and seemed to stare straight through her, his eyes cold and angry and she found herself swallowing hard and readying for a fight. With in seconds though, his eyes softened and his whole being seemed to deflate. She continued to watch him with wide eyes until he finally lowered himself to the floor, resting his elbows on his knees before dropping his head into his hands. Once he was settled, she came over and lowered herself to the ground next to him and just waited for him to speak first.

"How did you . . .?"

"The Boys were whispering," she replied, referring to her escorts. "They're at the end of the hall, keeping watch." She hugged her knees to her chest before continuing. "They're not all that bad, actually. Michael has lent me a couple of really good books and Allan has some . . . interesting taste in music." He couldn't help but give a little snort of laughter after hearing that. Hearing her call her two massive escorts The Boys was funny enough, but the fact that they were offering her music and reading suggestions just made it even better. "What happened?" she asked him after a long moment, her voice soft and quiet. After a long moment, he pushed his hands through his hair, sending it into chaotic spikes before finally starting to talk.

"Have they told you anything about where they found you?" She shook her head. "It was a hidden room. The machine you were in apparently took up one wall and most of the others were covered in data tape recorders. SHIELD took one look at the tapes and declared them a loss. They handed them over to one of the guys I work with to let him have a try. He's this crazy, rich, Howard Stark like guy," Steve explained, smiling ruefully at his description of Tony. "And whatever he's doing is working."

"That sounds like a good thing," she told him, her voice still soft. "Gaining access to all that data and intel." Steve shook his head and scrubbed at his face again.

"They pulled you in and out of the pod," he blurted out, staring at the ground between his knees. "They pulled you out, experimented and put you back in and they did it over and over again." 

Peggy swallowed hard as she thought about this. She didn't remember anything between the first injection and waking up in the hospital bed. She didn't even remember dreaming, let alone torture. Peggy tried to tell him this but he just shook his head and cut her off. 

"They did all these things to you and I couldn't stop it, couldn't save you." She watched as he suddenly sprung to his feet and began pacing. "Couldn't save Bucky either," he growled. "Oh sure, I rescued him from Zola, but only after . . ." She swallowed hard as she watched him stride across the room to a small rack of free weights. "I did this so I could help people, protect them! What the hell is all of this good for if I can't protect the people I love?" he demanded as he reached out and grabbed one of the weights and hurled it across the room. 

She jumped, her eyes wide, as the weight crashed into the wall and she was on her feet, rushing to him by the time a second weight hit the wall. The last thing either of them needed was for The Boys to burst in.

"Steve!" she called out, only to see him reaching for a third, heavier weight. "STEVE!" she yelled as she reached out and wrapped her arms around his in an effort to keep him from picking up the weight. He pulled against her but she held fast, squeezing his arm to her chest. His resolve began to falter and his efforts began to lessen as his anger faded to grief. Peggy cautiously loosened her hold on him and shifted around until she was sure he could see her.

"I couldn't save either of you," he lamented and she felt her heart break for him.

"You did save us," she assured him, reaching out to smooth the shoulders of his t-shirt before wrapping her arms around him as best she could and hugging him tightly. He shook his head while wrapping his own arms around her and pulling her tight against him. "You did," she assured him before rattling off a number of times he had stepped in and pulled both she and Barnes from danger. Slowly, she felt him beginning to relax and his hold on her beginning to loosen and when he finally did take a step back, she offered him a small smile that he haltingly returned. "Buck up, Captain," she said jokingly as she reached up and placed her hands on either side of his head before using her thumbs to brush away some stray tears. He pressed his face into her hands, taking one last moment of comfort before straightening up and becoming Captain Rogers again.

"I, ah, I picked you up something," he said, shifting the conversation away from his emotional breakdown. "It was the whole reason I ended up at T . . . at the crazy Genius' place." He was out of the room before she could reply and not knowing what else to do, she stayed where she was and listened as a locker door banged open and shut a few times. "It's called a tablet," he told her as he came back into the gym, pulling the tablet from the case and turning it on and handing it to her. She studied the display for a moment before looking up at him for guidance. He grinned and blushed a little, realizing he'd just made the same mistake everyone who had ever handed him a piece of electronics had made. "We should probably find somewhere to sit," he suggested. With a shrug, she sat down on the floor, resting the tablet on her lap and looking up at him expectantly. He quickly joined her and began teaching her as best he could about this particular electronic wonder.

***

"Thank you for this," Peggy said, holding up the tablet as Steve dropped her off at her room later that night. "And thank your friend for me as well." 

"You're welcome, and I will," he said, shoving his hands in his pockets. "And, uh, thank you. For earlier."

"Just do me a favor and remember this?" she asked him, a ghost of a smile on her face. "I'm pretty sure I've got one of my own coming, somewhere down the line." They shared a somewhat awkward chuckle before lapsing into a somewhat awkward silence.

"I should let you go," he finally said, taking a step away from her. She nodded and hugged the tablet to her chest before asking if he'd be around the next evening for dinner. "It's Meatloaf Monday, of course I'll be here." Peggy couldn't help but smile at his answer. "5:30?"

"5:30," she agreed, offering him a little wave as he finally turned and started walking away. She watched him disappear around the corner before finally slipping into her own room. 

She frowned at the utilitarian space, the small table with two chairs, the microwave oven she didn't dare touch, an electric kettle, and the sparse collection of belongings she had accumulated in her two weeks here and felt her breath hitch a little and felt a slight tightening in her chest. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply until the feeling had passed. She clutched the tablet a little tighter as she finally opened her eyes and looked around the room again only this time comparing it to the barracks and tents she had lived in during the war. Compared to them, she was living in luxury. Deciding that there was no point in giving the matter any more thought, Peggy curled up on her bed and woke the tablet back up again to continue exploring what the internet had to offer.

_**_

_This news source is ridiculous._ She texted him a little later that night. One of the first things he had done was explain texting so they could communicate while apart since she had no access to a phone.

 _Which one?_ Came a quick reply.

_It's called The Onion._

_That's because it's satirical._ Well, that explained some things. She thanked him, bid his good night and went back to her exploring.

The next morning, he woke up to another text: _Fox News is satirical as well, correct?_

**


	5. Chapter 5

When she had been a small girl, her parents had taken her to the beach at Brighton and after splashing at the edge of the water for most of the day, she had begged her father to be allowed out into the water. 

She remembered her parents sharing a series of looks before her father had swept her into his arms and carried her into the water. She had shivered as they moved further into the cold water of the English Channel but she had laughed loudly as he held her at arms length in the water, bobbing along with the waves. Suddenly though, a wave had come along and knocked her father off balance, causing him to lose his hold on her. Peggy had bobbed on the surface for a moment before slipping under the water.

She had kept her eyes open under the water, hoping to spot her father in the murky green of the water but couldn't see anything. She tried to make her way to the surface and take a breath, but she felt like she was moving through jelly and was getting no where fast. As her lungs began to burn, she began to panic and struggle against the water even harder until she was suddenly pulled from the water by her father. She coughed and sputtered as he held her close, assured her everything would be fine and praised her for being such a calm, brave girl.

This time was much the same, only her father wasn't there to save her.

She squinted into the murky blue green hoping to spot daylight or something else she could use to orientate herself and struggled to move in the jelly like substance that surrounded her. When she did finally manage to shift her arm, she quickly hit some kind of barrier that kept her from going any further. Several more minutes of slow investigation told her that she was surrounded by some kind of barrier that was keeping her in place.

As she realized she was trapped, she fought to remain calm and preserve whatever useable air was still in her lungs, trying her best to stay conscious as long as possible. As long as she was conscious, she had a chance.

Suddenly, several dark shadows appeared along with a feeling of dread in her gut. The shadows meant something, she knew they did, but she couldn't put her finger on what. She watched as they moved around freely for a while before two shadows approached her. She forced herself to remain still in the hopes that they would ignore her, but one of them soon reached out and all she could hear was a loud, dull banging that caused her to jump.

A light suction was soon pulling at her toes and she gave into the building panic in an attempt to get away and save herself from being pulled further under. Confusingly though, it was the substance that was sucked away and not her. As the level lowered, she sank to the floor, unable to hold herself up, and began to cough violently as she tried to breath once again.

"Hello again, Agent Carter," came a heavily accented voice. She looked towards the voice, still coughing slightly, but could only make out a blurry figure. She tried to fight when she felt multiple hands upon her, but they simply moved her around like a rag doll before strapping her onto a board of some kind. The first voice began to speak a language she couldn't place and three others responded before she was addressed again. "How are you feeling today?"

"Cold," she got out after a moment. She wondered when speaking became so difficult.

"Don't worry," the voice said as something warm and itchy was tossed over her. "It won't be for long." As part of her arm was cleaned off, she asked the figure if he'd cover her feet. "There's no need," the voice replied seconds before she screamed, her whole body suddenly on fire. She tried to pull away, but the hands were suddenly back on her. "Put her back, before she hurts herself," the voice said. With her body still on fire, the hands returned, pulled the blanket from her and put her back on the floor.

As the jelly filled the tube again, she couldn't help but be grateful it was putting out the fire.

**

Peggy shot upright in bed, chest heaving as she whipped her head around to ascertain where she was, suddenly realizing she was in her ugly little room inside SHIELD. With shaking hands, she freed her legs from the blankets that had become wrapped around them and all but flung herself out of bed and turned on the light. Satisfied that she wasn't trapped behind any barriers and there were no shadowy or blurred figures in the room, she began to calm down.

"Only a dream, Carter," she told herself softly while moving towards the bed to finish untangling the covers and to lay them on the bed once more. Her movements began to slow as she remembered the conversation she and Steve had had in the gym, about she had been removed from the pod and experimented upon from time to time during her captivity. "Or maybe not," she uttered as she realized she could very well have been remembering one of the times she had been pulled form the pod. She abandoned the tangled covers and headed towards the small en-suit as her stomach turned and her mouth began to water. She tried to push the nauseous feeling away by reminding herself that it was all over now, but it didn't work.

When she had finished, she returned to the main room and simply stared at the bed for a long time before ripping the covers from the bed and throwing them across the room. Satisfied, she pulled on a jumper she had been given and laid down on the partially stripped bed. She stared at the wall for a very, very long time before she finally fell into a restless sleep.

***

"Do you ever dream about it?" Peggy asked Steve as they stood on the roof of SHIELD once again, looking out over the city as the sun set.

"Kind of," he admitted after a long moment. He stared out into the distance until a prolonged horn blare shook him back into the present. "It's pretty abstract. I feel cold, like I'm looking through distorted glass. Sometimes it's like I'm trapped in an ice coffin." 

She nodded as she considered this and he watched her for a long moment, waiting for some type of reaction but none came. He watched a helicopter make a lazy loop of the city for a moment and wondered if it was tourists or a traffic report before finally speaking again. 

"Do you ever dream about it?" Peggy licked her lips before pulling the bottom one between her teeth and he had his answer. Steve desperately wanted to push her to talk, to get her to open up to him but instead he focused on the way the wind caught her hair and blew it around. It was odd to see her with her hair loose around her shoulders. It made her look younger, softer; like someone who hadn't been fighting a war since she was a teenager. When SHIELD did finally cut her loose, she was going to have a much easier time fitting in to the modern aesthetic than him.

"I dreamt about being in the pod last night." Steve immediately snapped out of his own head and whipped his head around to look at her. He swallowed hard as he watched her pick at something on the safety rail as she decided what to say next. "They drained it, pulled me out and gave me another injection. It felt like my whole being was on fire and then they put me back in again. My blankets spent the rest of the night on the other side of the room." For the first time since he lost Bucky, Steve felt utterly helpless. He didn't know how to fix this, or if he would ever be able to fix this. In the end, he decided on honesty and told her that it was gonna get worse before it got better. "Wonderful," she replied bitterly.

"Text me," he told her without hesitation. "I'll keep the volume up on my tablet so I hear it come in. I don't care how late it is." She tried to protest, but insisted. More than once he'd desperately wished there had been someone to talk to in the middle of the night and he had no plans to let her go through that if he could avoid it. She made a face for a few seconds before letting her features relax and ask about a particular building. He dipped his head to hide a smile before he started to answer her the best he could. Apparently she still wasn't all that well acquainted with the art of subtlety.

***

Nick Fury stood in his office, staring out the windows as he tried to come up with a way to circumvent the Security Council and their plans for one Peggy Carter. He had been in and out of meetings with the Council, Coulson and the battery of personnel who were in charge of treating Carter for the last week, but a solid plan of action had yet to be reached. Carter had been at SHIELD for nearly three weeks now and while she was still a good little soldier who jumped through any hoop they put before her, Fury knew that this wasn't going to continue much longer. Like every other agent under his command, Carter was a doer. She liked to be out in the thick of things, getting her hands dirty and fighting the good fight, not stuck in the same building day after day completing the same tasks over and over again. Unfortunately, Tony Stark had delivered the recovered data from the pod room and the Security Council were not pleased.

The Russians had held Carter for nearly two years before abandoning her. The serum was slow acting and the results were unpredictable. While she hadn't gained any of the height or bulk Rogers had, she still displayed enhanced speed, agility and memory retention, but to a lesser degree than Rogers. Unfortunately for Carter, the Russians were looking for a quicker way to create super soldiers than the years of training required by Red Room operatives. Since she wasn't providing the quick results they wanted, she was abandoned. It remained unclear as to why she had been left in the pod instead of taken back to Russia or killed out right, but part of a damaged log entry seemed to suggest one of the Russians was hoping to come back and retrieve her at some point, maybe to continue experimenting with a serum derivative.

With this information in hand, the Security Council was opposed to releasing Carter back into the general population. While they claimed it was a matter of national safety, that no one would ever know the extent to which Carter had been modified, Fury was pretty sure they were interested in keeping Carter hidden away so that they'd have permanent access to her. They'd wanted the same of Captain Rogers when he first arrived, but Loki and his frat buddies had forced a change of plans.

As far as Coulson was concerned, well, Fury wasn't completely sure what to do with him. The man had a legendary case of hero worship for Captain America and it turned out that he was almost as gone on Carter as well. He was continually making strong arguments to move Carter into agent training, to get her re-certified and out into the field again. He had even floated the idea of attaching her to the Avengers program in some yet to be decided capacity. Now, Fury wasn't prepared to dismiss all of Coulson's suggestions, mostly because he wanted Carter back out in the field as well, but he wasn't prepared to simply sign off on the suggestions either. Carter was just getting her feet back underneath her and still coming to terms with what had happened to her. Sure, they'd throw Cap back out in the field two weeks after they'd defrosted him, but they'd had no choice. War had been coming and they needed him on the front lines. Like it or not, Steve Rogers was a soldier and when push came to shove, he'd follow orders. Carter, on the other hand, was a wild card.

She'd been a member of the military once upon a time, but never really a soldier. Sure, she'd gone through basic training and knew the basics of following an order, but she'd built her career mostly on doing whatever the hell she wanted to. She'd proven herself as a code breaker and analyst after having been handed a classified file accidentally. She'd rescued Erskine from a German stronghold when she had been ordered to gather information only and then she'd put the idea into Roger's head to go and save Barnes himself before wrangling Howard Stark into flying them into enemy air space. Carter had flown by the seat of her pants back in the day, but that just wouldn't fly now.

Not that any of this mattered, he reminded himself as he turned away from the window and sat back down at his desk. Carter was locked away in SHIELD under 24-hours surveillance until further notice and the Security Council was doing its best to keep it that way despite the complication that was Steve Rogers. 

If it wasn't for him, the Council could have her shipped off to the deepest, darkest hole they could think of and no one would know or care. She'd be theirs to do with as they pleased with no one to tell them otherwise. However, Rogers did know about her and he cared about her. Like clock work he showed up every day to take her down to the cafeteria before spending the rest of the evening with her. Fury had no idea what they talked about or what they did but he honestly didn't care. Rogers presence in her life meant that she couldn't be disappeared and that suited him just fine. His presence also meant that they'd know sooner if Carter wasn't as OK as she was convincing the shrink she was. Like so many others, Fury had seen the newsreels and read the reports and read between the lines to see that the relationship Carter and Rogers had shared during the war had been more than professional. He didn't want to know how much more than professional the relationship had been, he was just going to take comfort in the fact that they had been close enough that Rogers would snitch on her if he felt she needed help.

And with a story like hers, Lord knew she was going to need help eventually.

***

"No Cap tonight?" Allan asked as he and Michael escorted her down to the Cafeteria later in the week.

"He's off saving the world or some such," she told them, a small, fake smile plastered on her face. Truth be told, she'd woken up that morning to message that simply said something had come up and he'd be gone for the next while.

"Life of a super hero," Michael chimed in and she forced the corners of her mouth to curve up for his benefit. Since she had no dining companion that evening, The Boys sat with her and kept up a lively conversation about all manner of things she had no knowledge of and while normally she'd be quite interested and interrupting them with questions, tonight she simply listened and played with her food. At this point, she was fairly certain she was never going to understand Steve's fascination with the meatloaf.

As The Boys continued to prattle on, she let her mind drift back to Steve. He'd been troubled since his confession in the gym and despite her assurances that he wasn't to blame for anything, he was still carrying around a hefty load of guilt.

And then she had confessed her dream to him and added to the load.

"You OK, Carter?" She snapped back into the present and offered her companions a small smile after a moment.

"Just tired," she offered. "Another long day of performing tricks." The Boys looked at each other and nodded in agreement before beginning to tell her about their various adventures with physical therapists over the years. They regaled her with tales of bullet wounds, torn ligaments and fractures, interspersed with arguments over who had been hurt worse and side anecdotes about injuries suffered by some of their colleagues. By the end of dinner, they had her smiling and laughing while realizing that despite so many modern conveniences, spy work was still dangerous. They stayed at the table talking and laughing until she started to fade and they insisted on calling it a night. She bid them goodnight at the door to her room before slipping inside and checking her tablet for messages.

 _Hope things are going well._ She sent to Steve, not knowing if he'd have access to his messages where ever he was. _Missed you tonight._ She added before pressing send again. She waited a few moments for a reply, or to at least see if a "seen at" message appeared before readying for bed. She finished the article she had been reading on Senator McCarthy and his Communist witch-trials before checking her messages once again. Seeing there was still no reply, she quickly plugged the tablet in to charge, extinguished the light and pulled the covers up.

***

It was dark when she opened her eyes and it only took her a moment to realize that she was trapped. Heavy straps across her shoulders, abdomen and legs kept her tied firmly to the table she was laying on and struggling only made them tighter. She twisted her head around, trying to see something, anything, about where she was but it was just dark.

She strained her ears, hoping to hear where she was or if any people where nearby but all she could hear was her own ragged breathing and the blood rushing in her ears. She closed her eyes tightly and forced herself to slow her breathing and her heart rate. Without her eyes, she was going to have to rely on sound to keep her safe and she needed to be able to hear more than herself to do that. Once she had calmed, she tested her bonds again only to find additional straps over her elbows and lower legs.

Her only chance was going to depend on convincing her captors, whoever they may be, that she was still unconscious when they came back. With one last deep breath, she closed her eyes, forced her breathing into a slow regular patterned and waited.

"Test her," she heard some time later and she forced herself to stay loose. She had no idea what they were going to test, but if they loosened her bonds at all, she'd have a chance. Instead, she felt something cold and wet being dragged across her elbow before the tip of a not quite sharp enough syringe pierced the skin. Despite her best efforts, she tensed and a familiar voice told her they knew she was awake. The light was blinding when she opened her eyes, forcing her to squint and blink rapidly as she tried to adjust. "Well?"

"No significant change," a second voice answered and she tried to turn her head to see where the voice was coming from. Before she could get very far, a hand struck her, forcing her head to the side as she gave an involuntary cry of pain and surprise. The side of her face burned and she could taste a metallic tang in her mouth as the hand returned and grabbed her by the jaw, forcing her to look at him. She whimpered as he squeezed her tightly for a long moment releasing her. In Russian, he barked out a series of orders and she blinked back tears as she opened and closed her mouth a few times, making sure he hadn't hurt her too badly. Just as she finished, he struck her again and this time her vision swam.

"Double the dose," he ordered as he walked away. She felt the pierce of a syringe and fire licking at her veins before the blackness claimed her.

***  
With a gasp, Peggy shot upright in bed and struggled to unwrap the blankets from around her. She grunted as she fell from the bed and landed hard on the floor below but didn't stop kicking the blankets away until she was free and had scooted herself to the far side of the room. She pressed a hand to her chest as her heart continued to race and she gasped for air. She tried to call out, but nothing happened. Fearing the worse she reached out and pulled the phone from the desk. With shaking hands she dialed the four digit panic code they had her memorize.

As her vision began dim, she heard someone pounding on her door and calling out to her. She caught sight of Michael stumbling through the door as she passed out.

***


	6. Chapter 6

"What happened?" Agent Coulson asked as he came rushing into the medical ward. Helen Cho calmly finished up some notes as Coulson smoothed some fly away hairs and righted his tie.

"Best guess is a panic attack," she said, pulling the chart over and showing him the bio readings they had on her. "She came to shortly after we arrived, but we had to sedate her for everyone's safety." Cho nodded over her should and Coulson looked over to see one of the agents assigned to Carter sporting an impressive black eye. The two agents shared a nod of acknowledgement before Coulson began asking questions, trying to get more information about the matter but Cho didn't have much more to give him. "Approximately 40 minutes ago Agents Anderson and McKay responded when Carter's panic alarm was set off. She lost consciousness just as they entered the room and rescue breathing was required." Coulson nodded as somewhat absently as he looked in at Carter through the observation window. She was, once again, tucked into a hospital bed with an IV and oxygen cannula.

"There has been nothing about any anxiety or panic issues in the psychiatrist reports," he told the doctor but her only reply was a shrug.

"There's nothing about PTSD in the reports either, but I'm willing to bet she has issues relating to that as well," Cho replied, not bothering to keep the sass out of her voice. "She has been fighting in some kind of war since she was 19, has seen who knows how many friends, colleagues and loved ones injured or killed and has now suddenly woken up after 70 years," she pointed out while looking straight at the Agent and waiting for him to put together the rest of the pieces. "There's also the matter of her serving during a time when mental illness was a sign of character weakness. And a one way trip to an asylum."

"God, it's Rogers all over again," he muttered to himself with a shake of his head while flipping through the notes attached to Carter's medical file. They had assigned Captain Rogers a psychiatrist as soon as he had woken up and had ordered him to attend sessions after New York but had eventually given up on the matter due to Rogers' stubbornness and unwillingness to open up and discuss anything of consequence. While Coulson had always known that it was possible Carter would react the same way, he'd still held out hope that she'd be different.

"Perhaps, but Rogers doesn't hyperventilate until he passes out and then take a swing or two when he comes too." Coulson frowned as he looked away from the paperwork to stare at Carter once again. She twitched in her sleep and he expected her to wake up, but she eventually settled and dropped off again. Cho reached over and plucked the file from his hands while letting him know that she was about to release Agent Anderson and would let him know when Carter woke up in the morning. The Agent thought about protesting, but instead he simply agreed, offered his thanks and left the medical ward. He had learned a very long time ago that it was useless to argue with the doctor in charge, especially once she had started to give you a hard time about things.

***

The next morning, Carter awoke to a very familiar, very annoying alarm clock. She laid a hand on her chest and felt the familiar leads before turning her head to see the expected machine beeping away beside her bed.

"Damn," she cursed, her voice hoarse as she reached up to find the plastic tubing in her nose. She also noticed the IV int he back of her hand and the clip on her finger. She let her head thump back onto the pillow as she pieced together the night before. She remembered being unable to move as well as people talking and . . . fire? No, fire wasn't right . . . the feeling of fire, of burning. She tried to piece the jumbled images together, to make some sense out of them but she couldn't find anything else in her memories.

She also couldn't remember what she had done to land herself back in the medical ward.

"Good morning Agent Carter." Peggy turned to watch as Helen Cho stepped through the door way and began to check the machine readouts before moving to disconnect her from everything. When she was free, Peggy pushed herself up to sitting, getting ready to slip from the bed only to hesitate whens he realized Cho was pulling a chair over. She settled herself back in the bed when Cho sat down. Peggy swallowed hard as Cho filled her in on the events of last night and she found herself staring down at her lap while listening to what she had done to Agent Anderson. 

"You're lying to the psychiatrist," Cho finally said, cutting right to the heart of the matter. Carter tried to reason that she wasn't so much lying as being selectively truthful, but Cho wasn't having it. "This type of reaction, the violent lashing out, makes you far more hazardous to the general population than admitting to anxiety and PTSD."

Upon seeing her confused look, Helen explained about PTSD, or Combat Fatigue as she would have known it and Peggy couldn't help but feel the shame well up inside of her. There was no denying that she had seen and done awful, horrible things during the war and her work with the SSR, but they had never bothered her like this before. Sure, she'd had dreams on occasion about fighting HYDRA, of killing them or replaying the last conversation she had with Steve before his plane went down, but she had never been so gripped by the dreams that she had been unable to distinguish between them and reality before. She should be stronger than this, _is_ stronger than this.

"It won't happen again," she told Cho, her voice firm and confident, but the Doctor simply shook her head.

"This isn't something you can make go away by sheer force of will," Cho told her. "You need to deal with this before it will get better." The fact that 'get better' was used instead of 'go away' was not lost on Carter. Her imagination quickly conjured up a session with the young psychiatrist in which she confessed all only to have several SHIELD agents show up at her door to escort her to a facility of some kind where she was locked away forever. Not that she was exactly free to come and go as she pleased at the moment, but still.

"They're just dreams," she insisted. "They'll pass. I'll be fine soon enough." Carter looked up from her lap to focus on Cho and watched as the other woman's mouth thinned to a straight, tight line and she waited for an ultimatum to be given.

"Do you speak to Captain Rogers about these dreams?" she asked and Peggy's eyes narrowed ever so slightly as she tried to decide what Cho was trying to learn. Despite repeated requests, she still hadn't received a guarantee of privacy or immunity in regard to anything she might say about what was going on in her head. Cho decided to take her silence as a yes because she pressed on, asking if she only dreamt after talking to Rogers. When Carter remained silent again Cho knew she had gotten another yes.

She couldn't fault Carter for discussing the inner workings of her mind with Rogers given their history together. The war buddy bond was tough to break and could also be one of the most beneficial. She'd seen more than one soldier finally turning for help at the urging of a war buddy, but she had her doubts about that happening with Carter and Rogers given his own reluctance to talk with someone about his experiences during the war and after waking up.

"I am going to give you five pills," Cho finally said after a very long moment of thought. "The next time you find yourself panicking and unable to calm yourself down, I want you to take one. When they're gone, we're going to have this discussion again." Peggy nodded her understanding, aware of the fact that once these pills were gone, her mental health was going to be back up for discussion once again. She was also fairly certain that the speed at which she went through these five pills would dictate the tone of said discussion. She accepted the small bottle from the doctor and held it up to the light, staring at the five small pills that rattled around int he too big bottle. "You'll probably also want to apologize to Agent Anderson for the black eye and thank him for keeping you alive."

That explained her sore hand, she thought as she nodded her understanding. The women stared at each other for a long moment once again before Cho finally stepped away with a promise that a nurse would bring her clothes in shortly.

Later, after having dressed, grabbed a quick bite and made a visit to Michael, Peggy found herself back in her quarters. Without hesitation, she set about tiding the mess that had been made in the room before settling herself on the bed with a few magazines and the tablet. As had become routine, she checked her messages and was a little shocked to actually see one from Steve.

_Back. Exhausted. Will come by later. Miss you, too. Steve._

Though the briefness left her wanting more, she was very glad to know that he was home and uninjured. At least she assumed he was uninjured. It was always hard to tell with him given how quickly he now healed and his sheer reluctance to admit he was hurt.

_Glad you're safe. Looking forward to seeing you._ She hesitated for a moment, wondering if she should tell him about what had happened recently. She knew he had said she could text him about anything at any time, but that was a lot easier said than done. _Hope it all worked out, Peggy._

Her finger hesitated over the send button for a moment as she reconsidered her message yet again, but in the end she sent it. She needed time to wrap her own mind around the idea that she was . . . not completely recovered yet. Closing the messaging program, she turned to look at the small bottle of pills she had left on her night stand. She chewed on her bottom lip before finally reaching out to grab the bottle. As she opened the web browser, she turned the bottle until she found the pill name and haltingly entered it into the search field. She made it halfway through the first article before dropping the pills into the night stand drawer and searching for information on panic attacks.

If there was a way to control these moments of panic without medication or adding to her medical file, she'd find it.

***

"Steven!" Steve paused mid-step and closed his eyes, holding back a groan of annoyance as he heard Mrs. Llyod calling after him. "Come here, Steven." He quickly plastered his publicity smile on his face and turned to greet the elderly lady. Mrs. Lloyd lived three doors down from his apartment and had taken it upon herself to keep an eye on him, despite the fact that he was grown and could look after himself.

"Good evening, Mrs. Lloyd," he greeted her as he climbed back up to the landing. She gave him a quick once over before asking after his work and health. He provided the expected answers and she nodded her approval.

"I haven't seen you the last few nights," she said, looking up at him and he suddenly felt like he was a teenager again with Mrs. Barnes trying to suss out whatever trouble he and Bucky had just gotten into.

"Work, you know how it is," he offered with a boyish shrug, hoping he could charm his way out of this particular conversation. She ignored his charm and continued on with her interrogation and as he answered her questions as best he could, he couldn't help but wonder what Peggy would think of the woman.

"And how's your girl?" Steve snapped out of his thoughts to look down at the woman. He tripped over his words as he tried to explain that there was no girl and what could have possibly made her think there was a girl? "You leave every night at 5 and return at 9:30, you leave with books, magazines or other small packages that never seem to return, your slacks and shirt are always so nicely pressed," she pointed out as she reached out to smooth his collar down.

"There's no girl, Mrs. Lloyd," he replied, a blush coloring his cheeks as he pulled himself up to his full height and away from her hands. The woman gave a disapproving hum as she studied him before reaching down to pick up the bag at her feet.

"For you and your Not-Girl," she said as she handed him the bag. He peaked inside and saw the plastic containers he knew would be full of left overs. She probably handed him a bag of left overs twice a week at this point. Steve tried to protest, but the woman waved a hand dismissively as she turned and began shuffling back to her apartment. Giving up the fight, he called out a thank you just as she pulled her apartment door shut behind her. 

Alone in the hallway once again, Steve balanced the sack in one hand and reached in with the other, shifting the containers around until he figured out she had gifted him with the better part of a Sunday roast. He frowned and wondered if her daughter had "gotten tied up at work" again and made a mental note to have her over for dinner soon. Steve didn't couldn't cook much, but he knew enough to be able to make a small meal for himself and a guest. Satisfied with his plan, he made his way back to his apartment and packed his backpack with items for a picnic; blanket, plates, cups and utensils. He pulled the draw string tight, he head Mrs. Lloyd's words about Peggy being his girl echoing through his head once again, but quickly shook them away. He and Peggy were friends and nothing more. They were enjoying each other's company and reveling in having someone with shared life experience to talk with.

Even if he did get that familiar feeling deep in his gut when she smiled at him.

Forcing the thoughts away for good, he finished packing, threw the pack over his shoulder and headed out of the apartment once again, hoping he wasn't going to have to fight the crowds to put more cash on his transit card before stepping onto the subway.

***

Steve offered both Michael and Allan a nod of greeting as he came to Peggy's room. He frowned a little at Michael's black eye, but didn't say anything as he knocked on her door. He shifted his bags as he waited for her to answer the door and just as he was about to knock again, the door popped open.

"Sorry! Just let me grab a jumper and we can go," she said in a rush, leaving him standing in the doorway as she popped back into her room.

"I thought we'd stay in, actually," he said as he stepped into the room and closed the door behind him with a foot. Peggy leaned around her closet door to look at him only to see him already at the small table in the room, removing various containers from a large paper bag. He pulled the top back on the first container and shoved it in the microwave before he started pulling things out of the backpack.

"What on earth is all this?" she asked as she came over and began peaking into the containers. With a smile, Steve began to tell Peggy about Mrs. Lloyd. By the time he had switched containers and had laid the blanket out on the floor, they were both laughing long and loud about the elderly lady and her attempts to take care of him. "At least she means well," Peggy offered as she helped him bring the food to the blanket. "And thankfully she plies you with food and not badly constructed knit wear." They shared another laugh as they sat down, remembering the collection of poorly constructed socks he had received from fans and well meaning war supporters a like.

"Remember those yellow ones that were two sizes too long and three sizes too small?" he offered as he began serving them both. "Or those red ones that bled the first time they got wet?"

"I thought the field nurse was going to faint," she chuckled, remembering how the young woman had paled when they had pulled off his boots and emptied bright red water from them before discovering his feet were the same color. As he filled their plates, they discussed even more of the socks before deciding their favorite pair was the navy pair with so many dropped stitches and holes they looked like swiss cheese. "We should have let Dugan send them to the Navy," she added but this time, the mention of long deceased colleagues sobered them and seemingly sucked the mirth out of the room.

"To lost friends," Steve said after a moment, holding his glass in the air. Peggy returned the sentiment before they gently clinked their glasses together and sipped. They both worked at picking the conversation back up again, offering safer, more modern topics to discuss until he found himself asking about Anderson's black eye.

"I hit him, accidentally," she said after a moment, her voice growing quieter as her gaze turned to the floor. He frowned upon hearing this and seeing her reaction to the confession. If she had injured him while sparing, she would have owned it and probably have told him with a slightly menacing grin. Peggy Carter loved to prove herself, especially against men who were much larger than her.

"You accidentally hit him?" he asked hesitantly, his voice just as quiet as hers. She toyed with her food for a long moment before she began explaining the situation. He listened as she talked about dreams that probably weren't actually dreams, about feeling trapped and unable to escape and he felt his heart grow heavy. By the time she started discussing medication and psychiatrists he was forcing himself not to squeeze his fork so hard it bent.

The dreams, the PTSD as she called it, were all his fault. He'd been the one to tell her about the tube, about how she had been pulled in and out of it, about the experiments and now she was reliving them. In fact, she was reliving them so strongly that she had _stopped breathing_ and then promptly given her rescuer a black eye for his trouble because she was still caught up in her memories. He should have just kept his mouth shut, hell, he never should have turned to the SHIELD gym to work out his anger. If he had never gone there, word about it never would have gotten back to her, she never would have come to him and he never would have placed all of that on her shoulders. As all of this settled around him, he put his plate on the ground and swallowed hard. At the back of his mind, Steve realized that Peggy had stopped talking, but he was too far into his own head to worry about that.

He had put himself before her once again and had hurt her. Though he wasn't crashing a plane into some ice this time, he had laid all his anger and fear on her and simply walked away. He had left her alone to deal with all of this while he was off in some hole of a country throwing his weight around for the American Agenda.

He wondered for a split second if he was becoming to cynical to be Captain America, but quickly pushed that thought aside to be dealt with at a later date as he finally registered what his dining companion was saying.

"I'm not crazy," she said, ending the thought with confidence.

"Of course you're not," he assured her a little too quickly. He grabbed his glass and took a drink, intending to keep talking, but she saw the drink as a sign he was finished. He watched as her eyes narrowed and a hard look settled over her face.

"You weren't listening to a thing I said, were you?" she demanded, putting her own plate down to focus her attention on him. She had listened to every heart breaking word of his the other night when he had confessed his feelings of abject failure to her and now she felt more than a little stupid for expecting the same from him. He was the only person she had in the world and now he apparently couldn't even offer half an ear as she voiced her own fears, despite promising to do just that.

"Peggy," he started, but she was already wound up and in no mood to hear him. Instead, she stood up quickly and took the few steps over to the table while he caught up and jumped to his feet.

"I think you should leave now," she told him as she pressed his backpack into his hands before heading to the door. He fumbled the dark blue bag while trying to explain himself, but she wasn't in the mood. Instead, she held to door open and gave him a hard stare until he finally began moving to the door and out of her room.

"Peggy," he started to say as soon as he stepped over the threshold but it was too late; he heard the door shut rather forcefully behind him. Not willing to let the evening end here, he immediately turned and began knocking on her door, trying to get her attention but too soon he felt The Boys step close to him and he knew it was time to leave. As much as he hated to walk away from a fight, if he wanted any chance at fixing this, all he could do was walk away. "I know," he told them as he pulled his back over one shoulder and moved past them towards the elevator.

***

Last night, after the argument she'd had with Steve, She had packed up the left food and containers as noisily as she could before cleaning the plates and cutlery in the small bathroom sink and laying them on a towel to dry. She'd then proceeded to angrily rearrange her few possessions until The Boys had timidly knocked on the door and offered to take her down to the gym. After running for what felt like hours and with sweat dripping sticking her t-shirt to her, she reluctantly left the treadmill for the showers and then her bed. Since then, she had been doing little more than staring at the ceiling.

Somewhere around 2 am it had dawned on her that the fight they had just had over him not listening to her was very, very similar to the time she'd fired a gun at him after catching him kissing that other woman. He'd tripped all over himself and his words in an attempt to explain the situation, but she hadn't listened, she'd been too busy letting her temper run away with her after what she had witnessed. He'd been trying to apologize and explain this time as well, but she had charged ahead, letting her temper get the better of her.

"Idiot," she muttered into the darkness as she rolled over to stare out the window through the small space between the blind and the sill. She had rushed to anger and judgement against one of her only friends in this time and had no idea why. She knew that Steve wasn't just another callous soldier trying to get her into bed or just another man paying her lip service. Her thoughts drifted back to his confessions in the gym and it suddenly dawned on her that he had probably been wrapped up in his own thoughts and guilt, believing it was somehow his fault she wasn't quite right in the head any more.

With a frustrated groan she threw the covers off and sat up before reaching for her tablet. She quickly opened up the appropriate app and began to type out a message of apology but stopped after only writing down a handful of words. This wasn't the type of faux pas one apologized for with a text message, it was something that had to be done in person, but that left her with another set of problems. It wasn't like she could simply leave the building, hail a cab, and head over to his apartment. Even if she could, she had no money and no idea where he lived in the city.

He hadn't even given her a phone number where she could reach him.

Biting back another frustrated sigh, she erased the half written message and began to type out another. She meant to offer a simple apology and an invitation to tea where she could offer a real apology but before she knew it, she had composed a letter-length message. Her finger hovered over the send button, wondering if she should go back and read what she had written, maybe even edit it before sending. She puzzled over this for a long moment before finally closing her eyes, hitting the send button and turning the tablet off. As she laid the device aside, she told herself that she had sent him what she needed to and that if part of her hadn't needed to send such a detailed message, she would have stuck to her original plan. She was still scared of what, exactly, she had written to him, but the message had been sent and Peggy knew that if she looked at it now, she'd panic, send a series of messages trying to backtrack and would simply make a bigger mess of things than she already have.

She felt like she was 7 years old again and was trying to hold the vase she had just broken together with sticky tape while the glue dried. Her parents had left her at her grandmother's house for a few weeks during the summer and after several days of rain, she had started to go stir crazy. Despite knowing better, she had brought her football into the lounge and had begun to kick it around. Peggy had been having a fine time until a rogue bounce had sent it whizzing to the far side of the lounge and straight into the elaborately decorated vase her grandmother kept on a wooden stand. With wide eyes, she had watched as the vase had wobbled on its base for a long moment before finally tipping over and tumbling end over end to the floor. After making sure that the old woman hadn't woken up, Peggy had quickly gathered the pieces, grabbed the glue pot and the tape and had sat down at the kitchen table to begin gluing. After what seemed like hours, she had placed the brush back in the glue pot and had reached for the tape, carefully winding it around the broken ceramic to hold the pieces in place until the glue set.

Try as she may, however, trying to press the tape to the vase simply pushed pieces out of place until she got so frustrated that the sent the vase crashing to the floor once again, this time breaking it beyond repair. She had been sure she was going to throw up as she waited for her grandmother to wake from her nap so she could confess to the crime.

She looked over at her clock and realized that only 45 minutes had passed since she sent the message to Steve and that sick feeling settled in her gut just as it had when she was seven. She didn't know why she expected him to answer immediately, especially after how she had treated him. She was just going to have to wait until 6 when he got up to go running, if she was lucky. The thought that he might never answer her snuck into her thoughts and she ruthlessly pushed it away.   
  
Steve was a good man. He'd read her message, give her a chance to apologize again and explain and then they'd carry on, like always. They had made it through the Fondue mistake, and that female soldier, they'd make it through this. She hoped.

***

_Thank you._

_Talk more in a few days._

_Steve._

Peggy read the short message and let the tablet fall into her lap as she collapsed back into bed. She had known this wouldn't be fixed over night, that she had hurt him deeply with her accusations and quick judgment, but that hadn't stopped her from hoping that it would be over quickly.

_I am truly, truly sorry. My behavior was abhorrent towards you and there is no excuse for it._

_Peggy_

She returned to him after a long while, hoping another apology would shorted the time he spent away from her. She had depended on him quite a bit during the war as a friend and a sympathetic ear. He too was someone who constantly had to work longer and harder than his peers as well as being smarter and stronger than them to be considered an equal. But now . . . now he was so much more than a friend and sympathetic ear. He was the only one in the world who could ever understand what it was like to loose so much time and be expected to just jump back into the world, he was her only connection to the outside world and he was the only person in the world who would care if she suddenly disappeared one day.

She took a deep breath as that thought settled in her mind and she suddenly realized what a precarious position she was actually in. As far as both the United Kingdom and America were concerned, she was dead and without legal recourse in either country. She had no funds, no identification and no idea how to go about reclaiming her identity or citizenship in either country.   
  
And now she had pushed away the only person in the entire world who still gave a damn about her as a person.

She bit back a sob as that thought made her chest heavy and her throat burn. She blinked rapidly as she wiped at her eyes, but soon realized the tears weren't going to stop. Quickly, she grabbed a piece of paper and scribbled a note on the blanket side before sticking it to the outside of her door with some old blu-tack. She slipped back inside, locked the door and tucked a chair under the handle before allowing herself to curl up in bed and break down.

She pulled the blankets up around her shoulders and hugged a pillow to her chest as she let herself sob out all the fear, stress and sadness that had been building up since she woke up in SHIELD medical. She heard someone knocking at her door some time later and she pushed her face into the pillow to muffle herself, hoping they'd read her letter about taking a personal day and leave her to mourn and deal on her own. The knocking grew quiet after a while and she stopped trying to hard to muffle herself. She let herself cry herself out before falling into an exhausted slumber.

***

When she woke up some time later and went searching for some water, she noticed a piece of paper on the floor by the door. Picking it up, she couldn't help but laugh a little at the message.

_We can make it look like an accident if you want. So many things can go wrong when you don't wear a helmet while on a bike._

_M & A_

Well, maybe Steve wasn't the ONLY person in the world who'd notice if she went missing one day.


End file.
